In the Hands of a Prophesised Vice
by 4Eirlys
Summary: Rewrite of Merlin's Guide as to Why You Shouldn't be Voldemort. When Voldemort resurrects Morgana to help with his plans, the Old Religion cries out in agony to Merlin, to help him restore the balance. With the help of friends old and new Merlin must return to Hogwarts to protect the children. But nothing is as it seems and as always, it isn't going to be easy...
1. Prologue

**Hello everybody. For those of you who know me and mine, skip ahead. To those of you who don't, my name is 4Eirlys, and this is a rewrite of my longest and most popular crossover fic "Merlin's Guide as to Why You Shouldn't be Voldemort" which remains unfinished. If you ever want to cringe at awful writing or need a laugh, I suggest you read that ; ).**

 **This story has no relation WHATSOEVER to the Justice of the Druid series (which yes, I am still thinking and sketching ideas of shorts in that series). It is only coincidental that both are set in Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts (mainly because I love Delores Umbridge and her delicious branch of evil).**

 **This story shall (hopefully and to the best of my ability) be updated once a week. Obviously, university takes precedence over this. However, it is also equally as possible that you might be lucky enough to receive two updates a week. You never know!**

* * *

 _ **Ancient Vices**_

 _ **Prologue**_

Lughnasadh.

The pagan festival of the harvest.

The ancient castle stood proudly to attention. Although it had long since fallen victim to the ravages of time and nature, with the once formidable walls and turrets which had towered into the sky now lay in great piles of stone, the bricks glowed eerily in the moonlight, a sense of majesty remained. Even the thick hoards of brambles and roses which had grown haphazardly over the ruins only added to the rather grandiose impression, reminiscence of fairytales one could often find in muggle children's story books.

For once, Voldemort unchecked his restrains, and let a smile, a _genuine_ smile full of childlike wonder overtake his face. He breathed in deeply, the kind of action that would have had his nostrils fluttering in his weak, pathetic, old body, but now only served to emphasise the snake like features in the moonlight as he threw his head back slightly. The castle even _smelt_ differently; untouched, unearthly.

Mystical.

The smile stayed on his lips as Voldemort moved forward, his fingers ever so slightly skimming the stones as he strode forward towards the only part of the castle which had remained mostly intact. If he was honest with himself, the barest hint of contact was because the wraith was terrified that the magic imbued in the stones would reject his presence, like it had rejected so many others that had tried over the years. Even Grindleward, in his mission to become Master of Death, had had his magic critically depleted and was been rejected from this hallowed ground when he had visited. But Voldemort was never honest, least of all to himself.

The Dark Lord had always been fascinated with myths; ever since he had found out he had been a wizard. Because if _magic_ existed, what was there to stop some of the _older_ legends from being true too? Yes, whilst the Founders were important – Salazar Slytherin the most – they were not the sole reason he spent hours in the Hogwarts library reading _all_ historical materials, whether myth, legend, or fact. Because he had found _her._

Morgana Le Faye.

The one woman who captivated him like no other. Who would _understand_. For were they not the same, he and she? Both orphans, growing up alone and oppressed. Both finding that their father was alive, and hated their kind, their very existence, their _magic?_ Both who knew the superiority of magical wielders like themselves, who wished to rid the Earth of scum?

Having being recently restored to his body and the events that had subsequently followed had changed Voldemort's outlook on his great cause. He found himself withdrawing and adjusting his plans and had realised that no matter his cunning, he needed stronger allies, and more powerful allies... the _darkest_ ally.

His cloak whispered to the earth his most vile secrets as it slithered across the floor. His footsteps were silent – he found himself detesting footwear in his new body and now preferred to go barefoot - and yet they seemed to echo as he strode down what was once the Great Hall. He stopped at the foot of the dais, where once, in a time of myth and a land of magic, a great throne once sat, overlooking the most powerful Kingdom in Albion.

The air seemed to grow colder as he knelt, and the contrast between the light and the shadows grew crispier as the darkness came to life, writhing with excitement, making the moonlight dance back in an effort to escape.

" _Geopenian Avalon, ac un lætan."_

The earth let out a powerful tremor as Voldemort started to chant. Slowly, incredibly slowly, a portal of both light and dark began to manifest itself directly where the old throne used to stand. As he began the second line of sacred text, the Old Religion _screamed_ and all light was extinguished.

" _Geopenian Avalon, ac un þeostru priestess."_

The unearthly, soul shattering cry made Voldemort stumble, and blood dripped into his eyes, blinding him. At that moment, a section of shadow seemed to manifest, giggling as it streaked past him and out into the night, knocking him to the ground, but still resolutely he continued, his breath crystallising.

" _Freo Morgana Pendragon!"_

The cacophony of noise continued.

And then, he could sense her. A small pinprick of light that grew both darker and light stalked towards him, out from a thousand years of hell to be with him to create their heaven. She stopped, and stared at him.

"Which pathetic weak mortal dared to release me from my punishment?"

Voldemort bared his teeth at her, but remained reverently kneeling before her. "I am not _pathetic_ and I am not _weak_."

"And yet you kneel before me with blood staining the floor like a _fool_."

"I kneel out of respect, not weakness. The ritual asked for a sacrifice. I gave my life to revive you."

"And yet you remain?" She asked, obviously curious despite herself.

Voldemort smiled. "I am not _mortal,_ my Dark Queen. Such a cost is insignificant if one acquires a means of living without."

The Dark Lady studied him silently.

"It is impolite to not announce one's presence and intentions."

"I am Lord Voldemort, and on this _Lughnasadh_ I have come to reap what I have sown. Will you help me?"

Her lips drew up into a beautiful patented smirk.

"It will be my pleasure," She purred.

* * *

 _ **Lughnasadh**_ **is the pagan festival held at the beginning of August where harvest would officially begin.**

" _ **Geopenian Avalon, ac un lætan. Geopenian Avalon, ac un þeostru priestess. Freo Morgana Pendragon!"**_ **This translates as "Open, Avalon, and let one exit your gates. Open, Avalon, and let the Dark Priestess through. Open, Avalon, and release Morgana Pendragon"**


	2. The Vessel Awakes

**Wahey! To prove that I am genuinely serious about this whole endeavour (and also, I admit because I was bored) here is the next chapter – which actually consisted of three chapters in the original. I'm already becoming efficient!**

 **I have realised that** _ **"Ancient Vices"**_ **is a blatant rip off of** _ **Teenmuggle's "Ancient Relics"**_ **– honestly if you love Merlin x HP crossover stories and you haven't read theirs, you should as it is AMAZING – and now I will change the title. Thank you,** _ **Guest**_ **for your suggestion. With your help, I can** _ **feel**_ **the new title on the tip of my tongue – something about in the vice of a prophecy or something, but it's not** _ **quite**_ **right just yet. I think I'll eat on it! ; )**

 **Thank you to those of you who reviewed** _ **Merlin's Guide**_ **–** _ **XxPurpleAngelofAnarchyxX**_ **,** _ **Killua Lawliet**_ **,** _ **Linorien**_ **and** _ **Guest**_ **for your kind words and fevered response. And thank you to** _ **Guest**_ **,** _ **nightgijo**_ **,** _ **WriterGreenBooks**_ **,** _ **Guest**_ **,** **as well as all those of you who have already favourite, followed, or added me to a community. Your support is quite frankly, overwhelming (in a good way!) : )**

 **In addition, all hail Next stop willoughby. You are AWESOME**

* * *

 _ **Ancient Vices**_

 _ **Chapter One – The Vessel Awakes**_

Merlin dreamt.

He had never stopped dreaming, not really. And his dreams had never changed, either. He still wished for magic to be _free_ , in the way that he had never been able to experience, and for his friends and family to be beside him, behind _Arthur_ as the Once and Future King created the Golden Age. But, a millennia ago, that could not be, and slowly, over the centuries, a small part of Merlin that slowly grew in dominance over time no matter how hard he tried to beat it into submission, traitorously whispered that perhaps it would never be. _Ever_.

But the Warlock refused to dwell on those thoughts, for if he did, he was terrified that he would never recover, that he would be sucked into the deep abyss of his terrifying power, where no light reached him, only darkness. Darkness that _he_ would wield, indiscriminately over all.

It was after Arthur died that the whispering started. Eventually, after what seemed like aeons to the Former Manservant but in reality had only been days, Merlin had returned to Camelot where he gave Gwen the news. Once he found out that Gwaine had died, the Warlock had only waited till his mentor Gaius passed away before disappearing, never to return. Nobody else had needed him, as by then Hunith had passed from the sweating sickness, Gwen had had little Arthur and the remaining knights had gotten married. Merlin had vanished to the Crystal Cave, where he slept for a long time. A _really_ long time _,_ deliberately submerging himself in his memories.

Centauries later, Merlin regretted his actions. He missed Camelot so much that it _hurt._ And there was little that anyone could do about it. His new friends tried at various points in history to pull him out of his depression but how could they? His best friend, no his _soul mate,_ died in his arms, and he had been so grief stricken that he had pushed his remaining friends and family away, those who understood what he was going through, until it was too late, and they died to. Leaving him to walk alone on the earth, watching their descendents fall like flies no matter how hard he tried to keep them alive whilst he continue to live and _thrive._

Eventually, it became a game to him, immortality. A game of manipulation, of twisting people's beliefs, of _change._ A challenge to himself to see how many he could affect, how many he could inspire, how many he could save.

A game which, no matter how hard he tried, he never won.

The earth trembled beneath him, but Merlin ignored it, instead choosing to continue his dreaming. He had chosen the memory of Uther becoming enchanted by the troll, and even after all this time, it was still highly amusing to see and hear and envisage what the tyrant and the troll got up to in private.

Another tremor, and with it, Merlin heard the screaming.

 _HELP ME._

His eyes flew open, and he moved fluidly into an instinctive crouch, his battle instinct not dulled doing his long life. He paused, slightly confused to discover that there were no assailants near him, or indeed, within the next hundred miles, and it was with a hint of regret that the lake water which towered above him in a readying strike was laid gently back down into its bed.

 _MY VESSEL, HEAL ME._

Vessel _._

It was the Old Religion. The Triple Goddess was begging with him, _pleading_ with the Warlock, to heal her, to fix the rip torn into her soul, and make her whole once more.

 _THE BALANCE IS UNEVEN, THE WEIGHTS TOPPLED. RIGHT THE WRONGS THAT REIGN, VESSEL. HEAL ME._

And as Merlin heeded her words, closing his eyes to listen better, his senses slowly became overpowered by the Old Magic, screaming out in pain and in fear and in death as he saw -

"Morgana," Merlin breathed, his brow furrowing and his expression turning dark after he had seen the vision the Goddess had deigned to shove down his throat. "Of _course_ it would be her."

His expression turned wry, his eyes almost dancing with a twisted sort of amusement, which quickly faded as the Triple Goddess spoke again, her voice weaker this time.

 _Those like her are to be punished for eternity. They were never meant to return to this world._

"I should think so. Those like her don't _deserve_ to. And especially if it is to assist the likes of that _thing._ "

Merlin considered his words after he spoke them aloud. The wraith who identified himself as Voldemort had resurrected Morgana from the dead, to help him create "heaven." But when Morgana was involved, heaven became hell.

 _Vessel, avenge me._

And what Morgana was involved in, so was he.

But Merlin didn't know about what Voldemort's plans were, or how they entailed. During the last few decades, he had separated himself from the rest of the world, only venturing to civilisation when he was bored. He couldn't risk those whom he had made friendships and acquaintances recognising him in their old age, whilst he had remained untouched by time.

The first, and only time he had heard of the 'Dark Lord' was when he saw he fireworks in the sky, and when new magic seemed to rejoice and the world let out a collective sigh of relief. It was only then that he had become fully aware of the scale of the war – he had tried to stop numerous massacres from happening, but his magic prevented him, as the 'time was not right' apparently.

"And now look at what has happened. All of this could have been prevented, you know, if you had let me join in the war and defeated him instead of making me sit idly by."

 _The time was not right._

Even though her voice was weaker than he had ever heard her, the Triple Goddess still sternly rebuked the Warlock.

Merlin sighed. The time had never 'seemed right', until it had gone by. Experience had taught him that, but not; it seemed, to the Old Religion, which remained stubborn that he should stay out of it.

"I need information. Answers for the questions we shall seek."

 _Then go._ She whispered.

Merlin hesitated. Here, beside the Isle of the Blest, was the strongest point of Old Magic where he could converse with the Triple Goddess. If he moved, even if it was to another Old Magic site, in her current weakened state she would not be able to contact him, to _feel_ him. And although she was not a particularly benevolent deity, or that they held a close bond, he was still _hers_ as she was _his._

 _Go._

So he did. He went to the one place where he knew he could find answers.

The Crystal Cave.

* * *

Diagon Alley was busy this time of year. With just under a fortnight until September, many harried parents were rushed off their feet as they tried to prepare their children for Hogwarts, whilst the children themselves were often so excited they bounced off the walls. Merlin joined the throws of people, but was marked out from the crowd due to being alone.

The Warlock was determined to attend Hogwarts this year. Due to all of his school things, whilst purchased brand new and top of the range at the time, was now nearly a century out of fashion, he had decided to visit the shopping quarter, and to begin the process of immersing himself once more. But mainly, it was to stock up on his reading books. After all, for someone who was immortal, there was nothing better to do then to read and learn.

Smiling sadly, Merlin reflected that the sentiment was one in which his old mentor Gaius would have concurred with. Strange that he now agreed with him, then when he was young and a foolish young boy.

It was clear that Voldemort was determined to kill the boy after he had accidentally mark him as his nemesis, and the easiest way to protect him would be as a fellow student. In addition, the inclusion of Morgana made things a tad more complicated – as a powerful wielder of Old Magic, she would easily be able to tear down the school's wards as if they were made out of paper, and Merlin had to be physically present in order to edit and add to the protections to remedy that possibility. It turned out that he had been in the Crystal Cave for over two weeks, glued to the crystals as they showed him vision after vision in preparation for his return to the Wizarding World. He watched in anger at the massacres which occurred globally within the last fifty years due to the _two_ Wizarding _and_ Muggle World Wars which had reigned, and which he would have been able to prevent with a click of his fingers if only he had _known,_ if he had been allowed.

His sympathy for the Triple Goddess had evaporated then at that revelation, to be replaced with fury at condemning the millions to pain and suffering and death.

Merlin hadn't frequented Diagon Alley since sometime after the death of Queen Victoria, and so he took great enjoyment in "ooohing" and "aaaahing" at all of the new shops, and marvelling at those who had managed to stay running, especially the family owned businesses. Generally behaving like a tourist as he traipsed down the unusual street, which was very reminiscent of the 17th century, he grinned as he observed those of a kindly disposition becoming amused at his antics. But he began to feel slightly disorientated at the hustle and bustle which occurred around him, and the vibrant displays – some of those colours weren't even possibly and conceived by mortal minds when he had last visited – so instead of walking into Gringotts in a dignified manner, he ended up staggering into the entrance after being brushed callously aside, before tripping over somebody's feet and falling flat on his face in the entrance.

"Sorry about that," Merlin started as he stumbled to his feet and began to brush himself down. "Bit of an –"

He looked up then, to find a goblin staring at him distastefully, his lips turned upwards in a half-snarl as he stayed carefully out of the sun's rays.

"- Occupational hazard." Merlin finished lamely. "Ah."

"I see you have returned, Emrys."

"May your quaffers always be blessed with gold, Killjoy. Yes, I have returned."

Despite the Goblin greeting, the expression of distaste remained firmly plastered on Killjoy's face.

"And what do we owe the honour of your presence for?"

"Righting the wrongs that reign."

"Obviously." Killjoy's beetle eyes glittered darkly in some kind of amusement at Merlin's answer as he surveyed him.

Then abruptly, without any further comment, the goblin turned on his heel, and strode back into Gringotts, Merlin automatically following him. Even thought he was a recluse, it didn't mean he didn't have any money. In fact, he was incredibly rich (that's what being immortal gave you) and due to his immortality and his penchant for getting bored, the wealth accumulated rapidly. Subsequently, the goblins were... not _kinder,_ but more respectable towards him (if that was possible), due to his continued patronage.

* * *

After acquiring his money and suffering from the awkward silence, Merlin began to make his way around the shops. He stopped in Amanuensis Quills, (where he bought three quills, two ink bottles and a load of parchment to supply him), Madam Malkin's robes for all occasions – "You look very handsome dear!" - before finding himself in the queue for Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, where after much deliberation, he finally settled for cookies and cream.

The Warlock had to admit, that ice cream was a great muggle invention. The sweets too, had come a long way since the Arthurian times. Now you could get chocolate, lolly pops, donuts... his stomach rumbled at the thought, and he silently promised himself to buy more snacks before returning "home" – if you could call it that.

Groaning after he finished his ice cream (it was that good!), Merlin made his way over to the last three (and consequently his favourite shops) to get the remaining supplies. Surprisingly, he only spent a few minutes in Flourish and Bolts, as he couldn't find any new books to read apart from the textbooks, (which was all incredibly basic stuff).

So as he stood in front of the Apothecary, Merlin felt anticipation. This shop always reminded him of Gauis' room, with all the various remedies and poisons, where bottles were always strewn around the place. However many times they had tried to clean it, it always went back to its untidy look after a few days. Truth be told, Merlin had liked it like that, as it gave it a warm, lived in feel.

"Oi, if you're going in, then move mate!" An annoyed father said.

"Sorry," Merlin muttered, shaking his head to get rid of the unwanted thoughts. He only spent a few minutes there, unable to stand being reminded of his former home for a longer length of time. Purchasing a cauldron and various ingredients, he carefully concentrated, before watching the items disappear with a _pop!_ in satisfaction.

The last shop Merlin had to go in was the Magical Menagerie. It was dark in the shop, but the Warlock had keener eyesight then most, so he could easily make his way around. He didn't want a cat or a rat, as they wouldn't carry his mail and besides, every time he looked at a rat, he was reminded of the time he had eaten one due to the famine. He laughed quietly, causing the birds to ruffle their feathers in annoyance.

Standing in front of the perches, he stood completely still, and relaxed. He let his mind wander, as he sensed the birds taking an interest in him.

Suddenly, a bird landed softly onto his shoulder, and opening his eyes, Merlin grinned and looked into the beautiful yellow eyes of the Merlin falcon. It was so ironic that his bird was the species that he was named him after, but it would remind him about his beautiful mother Hunith.

Still grinning, he went to pay for his new bird, and went back outside. Spotting an alley off to the side, he hurried towards it, and went far enough in that he was encased by the shadows. Double checking again to make sure that he had concealed himself from any unwarranted eyes; Merlin took a deep breath and concentrated.

" _Bedyrne ús! Astýre ús þanonweard!"_

A wind seemed to pick up around him, stirring up the old rubbish. The bird on his shoulder cried out in confusion and shifted nervously, her talons digging into his shoulder. As he open his eyes, they turned a bright shimmering gold, and a few seconds later Merlin vanished.

* * *

Merlin stuck out his tongue out as he concentrated on writing the letter to the current Headmaster requesting a transfer to Hogwarts. Pausing at the bottom of the letter, he half turned to look at his bird – he still hadn't got around to naming her – and tickled her underneath her chin.

"What do you think I should be named, exactly?"

She cocked her head, and squawked.

"I'm not entirely sure that can be easily translated," He chuckled, before it turned into a laugh as he saw her irritated glare and clearly audible sigh.

"Merlin, Myrnin, Myrlin, Morlan, and Maerllan –" He broke off as the bird nipped at his ear. "You're right, you're right, they are getting unmindfully complicated aren't they?"

She huffed in agreement.

"Better be Myrddin then."

Signing his new name with a flourish, he concentrated, before poking it hard with his quill. There was a small _pop!_ and then it vanished, hopefully onto the Headmaster's desk at Hogwarts. He didn't particularly care when he received an answer, only that he knew that with the new school year fast approaching, it was likely that the poor sod had mountains of paperwork to deal with.

Merlin settled back down, rolling over to lie on his back and finally let himself relax for the first time since Morgana had been resurrected. The falcon screeched indignantly at the sudden action and she flapped her wings to remain airborne, before settling down on his stomach, glaring at him once before tucking her head underneath her wing, as if she was deliberately ignoring him. The water lapped peacefully at the edge of the lake, the stars beautiful as they burned and reflected. Avalon was peaceful and Merlin was glad – this would likely be one of the last nights he would be able to spend here until this war was over.

 _War._ How he hated it so.

But already, he was better prepared than he had been to face it. Now he knew what made Voldemort tick, what his strengths and his weaknesses were. What his overall objectives were.

And why he wanted Morgana.

But the soon to be last night was quickly approaching, and Avalon was peaceful. And so he let go of all thoughts of the war, and let himself become immersed in his adventures he had shared with a King so long ago.

And so, Merlin dreamt.

* * *

 **There you are the second chapter. My update schedule –bearing in mind I'm using it in the loosest sense of the word – will likely be every Wednesday to Sundayish. I'm free all day Wednesday, and if all my work is done, have little to do on the weekends. However I maintain that it will probably not always be accurate, especially when I "catch up" so to speak with the original story and have to write the new chapters from scratch.**


	3. The Acceptance Tests

**Hello. I am aware this is bordering on three days later, and that you shall be expecting another chapter as well as this in the forthcoming days. I apologise for the hold up: over the weekend, I received the distressing news that one of my year mates had tragically died on Friday. She was one of those people who you could tell was destined for great things, so for that to happen – we were in shock. Everybody is in shock.**

 **Partially in compensation, and partially because it was my plan anyway, this is an (expanded and improved) amalgamation of three filler chapters. Naturally, it has reached over 6500 words, but at least it means that the story will finally get rolling.**

 **Thank you for everybody who has followed (over 100 wooo), favourited and reviewed in the week that this has been up. For those Guest readers who have kindly left reviews, I have answered them at the bottom : )**

 **In addition, be warned that it is likely the story title will change soon. I think it will likely become something like "In the hands/vice of the Ancient (prophesies)" but I'm not entirely sure...**

 **Also, kudos to Next stop Willoughby who kindly offered to proofread my chapters and helps me sort out the plot. You, my friend are awesome (and so are your stories! I didn't realise I have read your crossover it's SO GOOD!)**

 **Remember, I am still (re)writing my plan for this story. If there are any specific scenes, or story arcs (whether mentioned or your own) I will try to accommodate you.**

* * *

 _ **Ancient Vices**_

 _ **Chapter Two – The Acceptance Tests**_

* * *

 _To the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Witchcraft and Wizardry,_

 _I am writing to you to requeste a place in your school this forthcoming year, preferably in the fifth. I understand that it is the norm that al students attend when they are ten and one of age, and of transfers, that they are few and far between. Unfortunately, due to a series of events, I am left alone in this world. It was my late Uncle and Guardian Gaius' wish that I continue my magical education at Hogwarts and complete my OWLs._

 _I am aware that I will have to undergo tests in order for you to determine if I am eligible for your classes and I will happily comply. Due to said circumstances, I am now free of any obligations I once held, and thus any time is suitable for me. I am full of understanding on the occasion of rejection from your prestigious school; time is short, and space is limited._

 _I await your missive,_

 _Myrddin Ambrosia_

* * *

 _Dear Myrddin Ambrosia,_

 _First, I wish to offer you my sincere condolences on the death of your Uncle. It will be a great honour for Hogwarts to be able to comply with his wish. Owing to the (presently) decreased populations, there is indeed room for you to join us, regardless of your year. However your placement, as you wrote, is conditional according to how well you perform with the tests. They are not meant to be feared; only to help us understand where you are in your magical education and how best we can cater to your needs._

 _You will need to buy all the equipment you will use (see list provided by my deputy Professor McGonagall). Due to your extenuating circumstances, you qualify for the Hogwarts Hardship, which will help cover those costs, so there is no need to fret about your finances._

 _If it is convenient, we can begin testing tomorrow at one o'clock. I find it is better to start them sooner rather than later so any issues can be dealt with in an efficient manner without the quickening passing of time to concern us. You cannot apparate onto school grounds, thus you will need to make travel arrangements to Hogsmeade, our local village. From there it is a short walk to the school. If you have any difficulties, do not hesitate to ask: we would be more than happy to provide someone as an escort._

 _I am looking forward to your time at Hogwarts,_

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

* * *

 _Dear Headmaster,_

 _I thank thee for your kind words in these darke times. Whilst I appreciate Hogwarts' generousity with offering to pay for my schooling materials via the Hardship Fund, the money that is designated for me would be put to better use helping other, less fortunate children. By happenstance, I either already owne the schooling materials due to my studies with my Uncle, or I bought them myself in Diagon Alley recently – presumptuous of me I know, of which I apologise most profusely._

 _I am aware of Hogwarts', and thus Hogmeade's location, and can easily make my own way there henceforth, though I appreciate your offer of an escorte. I will gladly meet you on the ten and third of the daye._

 _Yours,_

 _Myrddin Ambrosia_

* * *

Even though his neck was craned at an awkward angle in order to read the letter which was laid out on the rock beside him, Merlin laughed loudly, causing the hawk to puff out her feathers angrily and squawk in protest.

"Oh come on," He cajoled, waving the letter about. "You have to admit that this whole scenario is amusing. Imagine not knowing where Hogwarts is or that I need money? HA!"

She glared at him and coughed, the action deliberately reminiscence of when she had returned with a boiled sweet wedged in her windpipe. It had taken extreme skill in being able to dislodge it, and Merlin's attempts were only successful after he had tickled her under the chin, her surprise causing her to flail away and spit out the sweet.

"Well yes I suppose that those lemon sherbets he fed you _weren't_ ideal, but to be fair, you shouldn't have accepted them in the first place."

She continued to glare at him for a moment, before deliberately turning her back to him and tucking her head under her wing. He shook his head in amusement at her actions, before rereading the letter she had brought to him from Dumbledore. He began chuckling again, his laughter only stopping when he was hit in the face by one of her wings.

Imagine that he didn't know where Hogwarts was, or Hogsmeade? He had been there when they had been built, he had _chosen_ the spot, had led the little foundlings stumbling through the woods to safety and had practically thrown the building materials at them, all the while, protecting them from afar against the wild animals and the ordinary but scared people. Merlin sighed, and in his distraction, his hand jerked, causing the silver knife to slim from the bark to his finger, the sharp blade nicking his skin. Absentmindedly, he raised his finger to his lips and began to suck on it, his eyes critically surveying the wand he was refining.

Again.

No ordinary wand suited Merlin. It was with good reason: he was the literal _embodiment_ of magic, and power flowed through his veins like water rushed down a gorge. In the beginning, whenever he had picked up an ordinary wand to use, no matter what charm he said or object he conjured, it _always_ ended with the stick exploding with the force of a very small, but powerful, bomb (except the word "bomb" hadn't been invented then). On one memorable occasion, he hadn't even been able to fully grasp it before the wand detonated. That had led to him only _pretending_ he had a wand by carrying out several impressive looking sticks, but that practice was soon halted when he realised that several people could sense magical cores in wands, and the absence of one in his.

Thus, some time ago ( _when_ the Warlock couldn't say exactly), Merlin had taken matters into his own hands, and had decided to make his own wand. It had a triplicate core: a tail feather of the original phoenix and one dragon scale willingly donated by both Kilgharrah and Aithusa respectively. Together, with the close connections each article held to the Old Religion, they were able to act as conduits to Merlin's magic, transforming it from Old into New.

Likewise, the wood also held close connections to the Old Religion: as it came from _the_ tree at the centre of _the_ temple: the temple of the Triple Goddess herself, on the Isle of the Blessed. Thirteen hundred years might have passed since his best friend was King, but Merlin still remembered everything he went through there, and occasionally he went back, to mark the fall of Lancelot, the noblest knight, or such times as these, when he went to get some wood. Mostly though, he preferred to stay by the shores of the lake.

He felt closer to Freya that way.

* * *

"Choose a desk on which you will complete the written examinations – it matters not which one you chose. I shall be at my desk for the duration of the time overseeing the last minute preparations for the school, so if any situations arise, please call on me."

"Thank you, Professor," Merlin said as he chose a desk in the second row of the classroom. "If I may – what are the examinations on?"

"The first is the History of Magic," Here, the Deputy Headmistress' lips tightened into a thin line in a show of agitation at the subject," Before a quick theory test on all your core subjects, followed by your chosen electives Care of Magical Creatures and... Ancient Runes, wasn't it?"

Merlin nodded in acquiescence and having finished settling, picked up his quill to start. He looked enquiringly towards the McGonagall.

"These are simple quizzes, to help enable us to understand further about your magical education you undertook with your Uncle. Please, take your time, if you do not know any of the answers, do not be ashamed, write down what you think it might be and come back to check on it later."

Satisfied that Merlin seemed to understand the instructions, she handed him the two quizzes, and then settled down behind her own desk, the first pile of parchment immediately shuffling in front of her. Likewise, Merlin turned to concentrate on his own tasks, though not with the intensity that the other occupant of the room was.

He was always going to be exceptional in History of Magic: he _was_ history. Books and plays had been written about his life, papers published theorizing the extent of his powers and the probability of the truth of the myths. It was the same with Ancient Runes: all outlying villages learnt the bastardised non-magical form of the runic language, as the pictorial element made it easier to learn for those who had no access to education. He was literally reliving his childhood when he wrote in runes (but it meant he often forgot the consequences of his writings due to the added magical element). As for Herbology, he had had to memorize every plant, along with both its magical and non magical healing properties during his tutorage as the Court Physician's Apprentice, and those not native to Britain he had encountered during the centuries of travel he undertook when he wandered around the globe.

After twenty minutes, Merlin had whizzed through all of the questions, not missing out a single one. Then, partially in order to kill time and partially to help cover his tracks, he went back and edited his answers, enough that the majority were still right, but wrong enough that he would not be considered eligible for remedial or specialized lessons. A quick peek ensured that McGonagall was still immersed in the piles of parchment, and so the Warlock wasted more time by surveying the books that were lined up orderly in the bookcases at the front of the classroom, and started a mental tally of which books he had either (co)written, sponsored or bought on the first day of publishing. Unsurprisingly, the ones which rejected all categories were the newer publications.

Eventually, after enough time had passed that it would be deemed an acceptable – albeit early – time of completion, Merlin cleared his voice, and raised his hand, feeling remarkably like a small child.

"I've finished. I tried to answer every question like you asked but..." The shrug finished the uncompleted sentence, the Warlock playing the role of angst ridden teenager beautifully.

"I am sure you will have performed admirably," McGonagall said in a comforting manner as she collected the sheets of paper. She retreated behind her desk, and rummaged around in the drawer attached before extracting a tin from the hidden depths. Opening it, she placed – to Merlin's bewilderment – a ginger biscuit on the desk in-between them. "Now, we shall practice your transfiguration. Please transfigure this biscuit into a tea cup."

Merlin did as he was told, and time passed quickly. Depending on the complexity on the spells, he would deliberately change the results in accordance with the standard one would expect from a fifteen year old. For variety, occasionally he said the incantation wrong, or overpowered the spells so that they became _too_ complete (it was amusing to say the least watching the mouse he had conjured from a snuffbox defecate on the Professor's desk. Merlin was sure he even saw the stern woman's mouth twitch upwards in a hint of an amusement, or maybe it was pride).

"As I stated earlier, I am the Transfiguration Mistress. Thus, Professor Flitwick here," She added, waving her hand towards the short man who had just jovially entered the room "who is a Charms Master, will test you on your charm work."

* * *

And thus the day passed. As soon as one test finished, the next began. With the exception of the Care of Magical Creatures (for obvious reasons), Merlin was led on a mini tour around the castle as he visited the Greenhouses, where he was tested on the practical side of the subject. A knock reverberated through the Greenhouse, and Professor Sprout straightened up from where she had been watching Merlin deal with some Devil Snares.

"Curious," she mused, noting how the tendrils of green simultaneously reached out to Merlin and pulled away from him as if in fright, creating a bewitching dance. "They seem both attracted and repulsed by you – an unusual reaction."

Thankfully, the knocking began again, and the Warlock was saved from having to answer some awkward observations. It wasn't only the Devils Snare that acted in such a contradictionary way – all of the plants present were. They were attracted to his magic, the power in it, the _stench,_ yet always hid when they realised who he was, or that his affiliation was to the light and theirs to the dark. But still, they returned, his mere presence like a drug to them which they soaked up eagerly.

"This, Myrddin, is Professor Snape, Potions Master. He shall take you to his lab for your final testing."

Merlin stood up, and began to brush himself down, only looking up to view his new visitor when he had already started speaking. "Good afternoon Professor Snape-"

The world slowed down – whether it was done unconsciously or not, Merlin couldn't tell. For it was him, the Potions Master who stood in front of him. It was him. The dark and dour man from the visions Merlin had seen in the crystal caves. The one whom had doomed a child, before trying to save them. The Warlock blinked rapidly in response to the new stimuli, and time seemed to speed back up again, resuming its normal passage.

"- and thank you, Professor, for a most enjoyable testing."

"It was no problem! You are gifted – a natural herbologist and I am excited to have you in my class, and hopefully, my House." Sprout gave the Warlock a playful grin and wink as she said this. Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin could see the Potions Master rolling his eyes.

"Do hurry. There are still potions that Pomfrey needs replenishing, and they are time sensitive."

Snape's voice was silkily dark and smooth, perfectly matching his glittering black obsidian eyes.

"Of course."

The plump woman became contrite, and moved away, already half absorbed in a Venomous Tentacle. Snape seemed to nod in approval, before sweeping back out of the room, only saying "Come." when Merlin had stood transfixed, instead of following him back through the maze that was Hogwarts. The silence dragged on too much for it to be socially acceptable as they walked, so bored, the Warlock searched for something to say.

"You are the Head of Slytherin House?"

Snape looked surprised when Merlin broke the silence, then said curtly; "Yes."

"What are the qualities Slytherin searches for when I get sorted?"

Snape seemed vaguely pleased (or perhaps it was phased) at Merlin's question, but after several long moments, finally deigned to answer it.

"Slytherin students retain certain qualities throughout their life: great cunning, ambition, resourcefulness, determination and cleverness. If you are in my house, we will expect great things, and we do not tolerate laziness in work."

Merlin acknowledged the speech with a small nod. "I see." Four beats passed, in which Snape seemed relieved at the silence. "They are admirable qualities for one to possess."

It was clear that Snape inferred what Merlin had purposefully omitted: _why does Slytherin have the reputation as the Dark House?_ He took his time to formulate his reply, and when he delivered it, every line was clipped and precise.

"There are those with limited cognitive functions who presume that Slytherin is the House who creates all Dark Wizards, such as the Dark Lord, one of our old alumni whose reputation precedes him. The founder did not approve of Muggleborns, for reasons unknown. That is why he built the acclaimed Chamber of Secrets, and later asked to leave the school."

Merlin frowned as he mulled over what Snape had said. Salazar wasn't like that. True, he didn't like Muggles or Muggleborns even, but he _did_ have a vague excuse, and he would not so willingly condemn the entire subset of Wizards over that. At least, the Salazar that Merlin had known would not have done that. But, he supposed, people change, sometimes dramatically. Perhaps Salazar was like – was like Morgana.

Merlin shook himself out of his dark musings, and was grateful when it appeared that they had reached their destination. Ahead of him, Snape pushed the heavy door open, the blast of cold air hitting Merlin hard, blowing the last tendrils of Morgana away. Walking behind the Potion Master, he made his way to the desk where a pewter based cauldron sat. He pulled up a stool and sat on it whilst Snape continued his journey around the room, lighting the multiple candles by hand. It created a foreboding atmosphere – whether it was intentional, the Warlock didn't know – but Merlin wasn't affected.

The Warlock was confident with potions: he had either invented most of them, or helped the creators with their work, often improving on their recipe to increase their potency. In addition, he had been under the personal tutorage of the most exalted Potions Master in the Middle Ages – Gaius. A thud on his desk brought Merlin back to the present, and he found the dour man scowling down at him, a finger stabbing the page that he had opened it to.

"You shall make a blood replenishing potion. You have however long it takes until you have finished, but I would like to be done here before the night is out."

* * *

Half an hour passed and Merlin had completed the potion. He sat back, relaxed, a proud smile on his lips. Blood replenishing potions were so _easy._ Admittedly, he was a little bit out of practise, but even so, he could make the potion on muscle memory alone, even when blind folded. It was a dark, ruby red, almost but not quite, the colour of someone's blood. It was simmering slightly, and the noxious fumes would make any other person nauseous, but to Merlin, it smelt like home.

Clearing his throat, the Warlock waited. The innocent sound echoed as it travelled, making it seem even louder than it had been, and it seemed to go on for an age. The intended person looked up, frowning when he noticed Merlin staring expectantly at him.

"I do not mollycoddle my students. If you cannot comprehend the instructions, then your reports of being at OWL standard have obviously been exaggerated."

"I can comprehend them, and I have. I've finished."

In truth Merlin hadn't even bothered looking at the instructions: one look at the title of the book had led to that. The recipe was old and clearly simplified for students. Gaius' recipe was much more efficient.

The Potions Master sneered at the Warlock, and glided over towards the desk. His nostrils flared when they encountered the stench that the cauldron gave off, but in the man's defence, he did not react. Frowning all the while, Snape stared at the potion, even dipping his finger in it to check the consistency before putting it to his mouth to taste. All the while, Merlin waited in silence, at a loss as to why, underneath the angry demeanour, the Potions Master looked rather like a startled rabbit.

"It is adequate."

Merlin nodded at the man's assessment, not understanding when he saw a flash of confusion and annoyance in the obsidian eyes at his reaction. The Potions Master recovered quickly however, leaving the Warlock to wonder if he had imagined it.

"Your last test is Defence Against the Dark Arts. Prepare yourself to duel."

Merlin readily clambered to his feet, tripping over the stool as he rose. He could feel Snape's eyes rolling but ignored it as he strode to the centre of the room, his wand out. He stood, relaxed, as he waited for the Professor to conjure up an animated dummy for him to duel.

"Well?" Snape drawled with an eyebrow raised, "What are you waiting for, boy? Or do you not have the common courtesy and respect for me to assume the duelling position?"

Merlin's mouth fell open in disbelief.

"I'm to fight against _you?"_

A spark of amusement lit the obsidian depths. "There is no need to fear. I will confine myself to use the expected spell range of a fifth year, whilst you have the freedom to wield any you know."

Merlin's mouth curled upwards. "Within reason of course."The obsidian eyes surveyed him, and his mouth curled upwards, whether in a sneer or a smirk, Merlin didn't know. "Of course," he returned smoothly.

Internally, Merlin sighed in disappointment, before he reconsidered his spell choices and the power he would command them with. Before, it would have been okay if some were accidently overpowered, but now, up against an actual human and a professor no less, he had to do some shuffling in his armoury.

Meanwhile, Snape had taken his position and indicated with a raised eyebrow for Merlin to do the same. He stood, his back ramrod straight, Merlin's eyes boring into Snape's as he perfectly executed a bow: low enough to be respectful, whilst high enough to be considered an equal, not an inferior. Arthur would be proud. The Head of Slytherin's face was expressionless at this display, but repeated the action, though Merlin noted that it was not as deep as his own.

They each stepped back, and then Snape shot a spell at him, so fast that most lesser students would struggle to block and would likely be caught unawares. Not Merlin though. Instinctively, he blocked the spell, before shooting back a bat bogey hex. Snape blocked it, and then opened his mouth saying,

" _Colloshoo_!"

Before Merlin could block it, the hex took hold. He couldn't move his feet, as the shoes were stuck to the floor. He debated internally for a moment about whether he should just take the shoes off and continue, but decided against the idea. He doubted whether Snape would approve. Speaking of the devil, he was advancing towards him, and had his wand risen to cast another spell -

" _Aguamenti_!" Merlin yelled grinning as a stream of water hit Snape directly in the face.

While the potion master was spluttering, Merlin let his eyes gleam gold and his shoes became unstuck. He began to dance around the room, light on his feet – a state that Arthur would quite rightly say was unusual for him. Snape scowled as he began to turn, in order to keep the Warlock within his sights. Staying true to his Slytherin nature, he began to aim spells slightly ahead of Merlin, anticipating his movements. Unfortunately for him, he did _not_ anticipate Merlin partially transfigurating the candles into flaming birds.

" _Oppoguno!"_ He laughed, directing the birds towards Snape, whose eyes widened impeccably as they began to dive bomb him.

" _Protego, depulso, stupefy!"_ The birds vanished, and a jet of red light streaked towards him. Merlin ducked causing the beam to hit the wall, throwing crimson sparks everywhere.

" _Expelliarmus_!"

" _Epoximise_!"

The two spells collided together in mid air, and then exploded, forcing the two casters to fall back across the floor. As Merlin was reaching for his wand, Snape stood up, looking visibly furious, his robe drenched in the blood replenishing potion that he had knocked over. He flicked his wand, and the liquid spilt all over him vanished, before storming his way over to Merlin, who was still scrabbling for his wand.

"Well that was an unexpected outcome wasn't it?" Merlin said cheerfully to the angry man, which only seemed to incense him.

" _Yield."_ Snape hissed.

Merlin smiled.

* * *

Merlin stopped in front of the gargoyles which he knew concealed the entrance to the Headmaster's office. Quickly checking that nobody was around with a golden glint to his eye – he had already spelled the portraits in the corridor silent on his arrival and would deal with them later – he lent forward and scratched the underside of the ugly statues' chins.

"Stop slacking on the job you two."

Immediately the gargoyles sprung to life, one of them peering closely at Merlin in seemingly recognition after hearing his voice.

"What ho! So you're back _again_ I see."

"Says the statue who was squinting at me. Honestly you would have thought you'd have gotten that chip fixed by now."

The gargoyle in question deliberately ignored the retort with a sniff, before belaying his curiosity by mirroring his counterpart and leaning in closely.

"Care to tell us what your secret is?"

"No."

The gargoyles looked put out by his response.

"This has to be the sixth since we were installed here, and the previous Guardian had mentioned your numerous visits –don't you ever get _bored_ reliving this experience time and time again?"

"Yes. After the same interrogation eight times, I find my patience wearing thin. Now, my name is Myrddin Ambrosia –"

"No it's not," One muttered sullenly, put out that Merlin hadn't revealed the secret to his immortality to them again.

"-And could you please announce my presence to the Headmaster?"

"Fine. But you're going to have to tell us one day!" They yelled as Merlin stepped onto the golden stairs which automatically started to move upwards, the charm kicking in. He paused when he reached the climax of the stairs in order to gather his wits, before knocking calmly at the door. Half a minute passed, before a voice came faintly through the door telling him to come in.

Merlin grinned wryly at the obvious power ploy as he entered the office, before becoming distracted at the sight. He took everything in hungrily as his head swivelled from side to side. It was so _different_ from the last Headmaster's Office – Mordicus Egg had been in command then, and many muggle inventions had been dotted around the office – and yet the same. This newly decorated office also held various instruments which were dotted all over the place, except they beeped and whirred and gave out puffs of smoke, belaying their magical intensions.

Noticing the past Headmasters and Headmistresses' portraits (three more had been added to the walls), he quickly closed his eyes so that the occupants wouldn't see the flash of gold as he blinded and silenced the portraits of his identity, instead his appearance being replaced by a glamour. With his secret protected for the moment, he turned to look at the centre, where a massive desk with mounds of paper strewn all over was situated, paired with a rather majestic looking high backed chair which contained Albus Dumbledore.

Merlin thought, as he took in the Headmaster with amusement, that the Supreme Mugwump Dumbledore might have been one of his biggest imitators yet.

True to form, it was Arthur's fault that Wizards and Muggles alike both held the misconception that he was an old man. It was due to being made to stand in his Dragoon form every time the royal painters came. Well really, it was Guinevere's, the Widowed Queen, but Merlin knew she was only doing it in memory of her ass of a husband. Indeed whilst it was a pretty good joke, it was _not_ meant to last over a millennium.

Merlin had often come across people who tried to look like him in his old form, though for what reason, he didn't really know. Often their beards were pathetically short, and their hair was a disgrace. But _Dumbledore,_ yes Dumebleodre might have been the man who was the closest to succeed. Indeed, they would probably be able to plait each other's hair and braid their beards if he resumed his old form. The idea made Merlin grin.

"I am glad that you have within you the capacity to laugh and be merry. There is no need to fear me, or your presence within this room."

Dumbledore it seemed had obviously been watching Merlin as soon as he had entered the office. At once, the Warlock was thankful he had taken the suitable precaution of closing his eyes.

"There is nothing in here that would fear me."

"That is the spirit!" Dumbledore chuckled as he came out of his seat towards Merlin. He picked up a tin container on his desk, and held it out toward him. "Lemon sherbet?"

"If you insist," Merlin replied jovially, popping one in his mouth, before his lips tightened at the tartness of the muggle sweet. The elderly man's eyes twinkled at his reaction, before placing a hand on Merlin's back.

"Now here m'boy, take a seat." He said, guiding him past all the dark magic detectors and true identity finders (which were ironic, seeing as they couldn't identify him). The thought made Merlin's lips twitch again, but he managed to get himself under control by the time the Headmaster had settled back into his seat opposite him. "Now, we shall discuss your results. The Professors have been keeping me updates of your progress, with Professor Snape's report only narrowly beating you here."

Merlin winced at the contents of _that_ particular report. Dumbledore took no note of it though, instead shuffling the papers on his desk until he found what he was looking for, quietly exclaiming " _ah_ " as he carefully withdrew it from the piles.

"The written tests first. With History of Magic you showed extraordinary aptitude, yet rather _creative_ theories within your writings. You performed admirably in Care of Magical Creatures, and were well within the limits for the magical theories of all or core subjects. With Ancient Runes, you did extremely well, occasionally confusing some of your translations. Your Charms and Transfiguration spell work are also within acceptable parameters: occasionally you made some minor mistakes, but those can be easily rectified: often you omitted certain words in the incantations, or incorrectly pronounced them. "

Pretending to be dejected yet slightly mollified, Merlin plastered a small frown on his face.

"In Potions it is reported that you made your assignment in good time, whilst your duelling tactics, whilst unconventional, show that you have a good understanding and knowledge of Defence Against the Dark Arts spells."

Merlin nodded sagely. Setting down the papers, Dumbledore adjusted his glasses as he read the next page of parchment.

"Could I please view your wand, Mister Ambrosia?"

"It's Myrddin, please. And I'm afraid I don't understand why you want to?"

Dumbledore chuckled jovially. "There's no need to be quite so defensive of your wand, though it is an admirable trait. It's a standard procedure that all wand wielders undertake when they set foot at Hogwarts. I contacted Olivander to ask him whether your wand would be in good condition, but he told me that you had never bought one from him."

His stomach clenched tight in protest, his magic coiling, waiting to be unleashed, but there was no use. Unwillingly, Merlin reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand, now regretting spending hours honing it to perfection the previous night and renewing the carvings. For now, it depicted a dragon breathing fire, the flames growing in size as they raced up the handle. Near the mouth of the dragon, in the hottest part of the fire, a tiny sword was etched.

"Your wand... it's beautiful." Dumbledore said, as without realising, Merlin had been turning the carving around and around, inwardly criticising the result.

"Uh," Was Merlin's intelligent answer.

"May I see?" Dumbledore asked, seemingly bewitched by the beauty of the pictures.

"Sure?" Unwillingly, Merlin handed over one of his most successful pieces of work.

"This is impressive craftsmanship indeed... The carving is so exquisite... If I may enquire, who made this wand? It is clear that it is not Olivander's work."

Merlin desperately cast his mind around, looking for a plausible excuse.

"My... Uncle."

Silence reigned whilst Dumbledore continued to be enchanted by the carvings.

"I am sorry... It is just that I haven't seen such splendid workmanship. You say your uncle made you this?"

"Yes he did," Merlin confirmed, as he took his wand back from Dumbledore's outstretched hand. "My uncle wasn't quite as rigid or old fashioned, as my parents. He was indeed, quite flexible."

The Headmaster frowned in seemingly contemplation, before blinking, and coming back to the matter at hand. If he was a juvenile, Merlin would expect the man to shift awkwardly in his seat, but instead, only the slight twitching of his fingers gave away Dumbledore's discomfort.

"I'm afraid that that is a perfect segue into a potentially private topic of conversation. Be assured: if the questions are deemed too personal, then you have the freedom to remain silent, but I would prefer answers. It would help us make your schooling more complete."

"...Okay..."

"You mention your parents and later you Uncle's dedication to giving you a complete education, yet they refrained from sending you to Hogwarts."

It wasn't a question, but that wasn't the point. Merlin was expected to answer it anyway.

"It is traditional in our culture to be home schooled. They tutored me themselves." Merlin shrugged. "It's a perfectly valid reason. In fact, my uncle was interested in history – that's how I know so much about it."

Dumbledore nodded pleasantly, yet Merlin knew that behind that pleasant facade, a scheming mind was at work, analysing the answer he had gave.

"And your parents – and Uncle – their style of tutoring, did it influence your writing?"

Merlin frowned in genuine confusion.

"Pardon?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Forgive me – I phrased that inappropriately. What I wish to ask, was did your tutors ever focus on writing skills – the style, the language you use... the spellings – or did they concentrate on more practical subjects?"

"Well, uh," Merlin replied, still taken aback. "Aren't everybody influenced by their teachers in some ways? But yes, I suppose there was a bigger focus on the practical element. Look I'm sorry Headmaster but you've honestly lost me."

"I think I shall be candid with you. It is the collective Professors' opinion -mine included based on your letters – that you might have a learning disability called dyslexia. Your writing is... unique to our time. There are several spelling inconsistencies present, and your phrasing is not always "standard" though that is not to say that it is incorrect. We think your spellings have impacted on your pronunciation, leading to several of the spells you performed today to suffer slightly because of that. It also explains why your practical tests – such as Herbology and Potions – had higher scores."

"I'm good at Herbology and Potions because of my Uncle," Merlin stuttered, still in slight disbelief. He had never heard of _dyslexia._ "He was a physician, and I used to gather the herbs for him when I became his Apprentice and assist in the potions he would need."

"I see." Dumbledore was quiet for a moment, before he said. "That may be, and certainly, there is a possibility that we are wrong – we are not experts after all – but our assessment stands. Madame Pomfrey, I am sure will be happy to test you. We would offer you help of course, and you will gain a certain amount of leniency in your writing to reflect the disadvantage you are at, but only if you wish to accept."

"It doesn't mean that I would be put in the lower year classes would it?" Merlin anxiously checked.

Dumbledore seemed aghast at the thought. "Dear boy _no!_ Having dyslexia does not mean you're stupid – far from it. Indeed, your creative tactic and use of your surroundings in the duel you partook in earlier was likely a result of it. Your potions and Herbology skills revival that of a sixth year or those who are particular gifted in the subject. If you were brought down, all that you would gain is boredom, and that is a state none wish to bestow on another."

"Then sure," Merlin shrugged. "What harm can it do?"

"Good, good!" Dumbledore made a note on the parchment floating before him, before tapping his wand on it. It glowed a soft white briefly, before vanishing in a flash of light.

"Well, that was the personal questions done. Once again I apologise for the intrusiveness."

"It's okay," Merlin reassured him. Indeed it was: nothing particularly damaging had occurred apart from his wand, and even then, that was down to pure stupidity on his behalf, not the Headmaster's. "It was necessary."

"I appreciate your acceptance. Now, I'm sure you will be pleased to know that the final part of your tests before being officially adopted into Hogwarts will now take place. Many argue that this is the most important part, and I find confess finding myself struggling to disagree."

Dumbledore winked at him, as he reverently lifted the Sorting Hat from a shelf nearby. Merlin ginned: this was his favourite part of returning to Hogwarts time and time again. The Headmaster rested the Sorting Hat on his head, before it slipped down his crown, obscuring his vision.

"Ah, interesting... very interesting."

Barely able to restrain himself from giggling, Merlin waited for the hat to continue speaking. It was one of the only entertainments he had, so when it came to the sorting, he always liked to exaggerate the action of searching people's mind. Over the years, it had mastered the art of starting and maintaining an awkward silent in order to keep the wearer and the listeners in suspense, and Merlin was determined for the Hat to break it first.

 _Oh dear. You've returned._

 _Aww did you miss me?_

The Hat snorted, but refrained from commenting. Merlin took it as a silent _yes._

 _And not just for boredom either... you have a greater goal this time._

 _Indeed._

 _You think it's your final goal. That this will be the last time you shall be sorted by me, and walk these halls, never to return._

 _Is it not? Was I wrong to think so?_

 _It is a noble wish._

 _One you clearly disagree with._

 _It is not my place to lay judgement on those who wear me, merely Sort them._

 _Hypocrisy at its finest. But do what you were created for, and Sort me._

 _But I cannot sort you into a house, you must choose for yourself._

 _I am here to protect the Chosen One and our home._

 _Ah yes... Harry Potter... He was to be a Slytherin you know... And he would have been great..._

 _You suggest I chose Slytherin?_

 _That is for you to decide._

 _Can't you at least help?_

 _I am not worthy enough of such an honour._

 _Fat lot of good you are then! Fine, I will just choose by myself. Alone. With no guidance._

 _Like you have done since the School began then._

 _Hush. I choose – I choose Gryffindor._

 _Your wish is my command. GRYFFINDOR IT IS!_

The Hat shouted the last sentence out into the room, for all to hear. Merlin couldn't tell what Dumbledore's reaction was, as although he attempted to lift the Hat off, it remained glued to his head.

 _The wish is a noble one, Founder. And when there's a will, there is a way._

 _Thank you._

Merlin started to lift the hat off, but before it cleared his head, the hat spoke to him for the last time.

 _Good luck Emrys .You will need it. Remember, all is not as it seems._

Merlin's eyes flew open in shock. In all his years of being Sorted, and the accumulated century he had spent at Hogwarts, the Hat had never once uttered his name. His True Name.

 _Thank you, friend._

* * *

 **First, I would like to say that I wish to cause nobody offense with the inclusion of dyslexia. I myself have it, along with dyspraxia, and whilst sometimes it's a pain, it's also brilliant (it really does liven up dull textbooks when you misread a sentence and suddenly something utterly random and sometimes inappropriate is read). It is also my belief that Merlin DOES NOT have it: it is simply the logical conclusion for the Professors to take. If you are truly interested in my theory, feel free to PM/ leave a review and I will happily explain. If not, don't worry – it's not a major plot point, but simply is a plot device to explain Merlin's slightly archaic way of writing, his speech and thus his pronunciation, as well as his proficiency in practical based magic.**

 _ **Crystal**_ **\- I promise you, there shall be more Draco interaction. Perhaps not at first and not as you would like it, but he shall develop : )**

 _ **TheNightFury**_ **– Hello old friend! Don't worry, the unicorn scene WILL stay in (but it might be moved to later on in the year so at least you have something to look forward to if you think the rest of the rewrite is rubbish) and of course there shall be BAMF!Merlin. What good story** _ **doesn't**_ **have it?! ; )**

 _ **Guest**_ **\- I promise that events shall be explained in more detail as they occur, and that less foreshadowing and ominous warnings which never seemingly get enacted upon. If there is something in particular you need explaining, feel free to hit me up. It's likely that most people wouldn't have understood either : )**


	4. Introduction

**Thank you for the amount of attention this story is getting. I appreciate your kind words in regard to the tragedy that struck. I apologise for this not being up earlier – last week was my birthday and my sisters travelled up and surprised me with their presence and an action packed weekend. This week is now reading week, so either you shall receive another chapter very quickly, or it shall be a long time coming (depends on how well my essays and assignments go I'm afraid).**

 **For those of you who do not know, I am studying English Language and Linguistics (basically, it's the study of speech, so accents and how gender, age and cultural factors influence it). I'm afraid my interest and love of this subject is going to appear rather frequently in this – the assumption that Merlin has dyslexia in the previous chapter, and how Hermione at first assumes that Merlin is an international student who attended Durmstrang due to his accent. If you dislike this, then by all means tell me and I'll happily remove all references. I just think it adds extra flavour and helps to colour the characters. : )**

* * *

Ancient Vices

Chapter Three - Introduction

Nervously, Merlin sat alone at the Gryffindor table, awaiting the arrival of the students. No matter how many times he did this, the waiting was always the hardest. Fear causing through his veins as he watches the young children seeking acceptance, and love and friendship. Of looking into the eyes of his mortal peers and watch as death stalked them through their pitifully short lives. He had lost count of how many funerals he had attended, and how many hearts he had watched been broken. No matter how much he loved Hogwarts, they would forever haunt him there.

The subsequent days after Merlin's testing passed quickly and all too soon, it was the Opening Feast. Due to the Professors being under the impression that he had nowhere else to go, Hogwarts had been opened to him, and welcomed him home. He had mostly been left to his own devices – most of the Professors were either doing last minute adjustments and chores, or they hadn't arrived yet. The only reason the Heads of the Four Houses were there to test Merlin was that they had travelled up especially to do so due to teaching core subjects, but a week later Sprout and Flitwick had returned for the year.

The Warlock spent the days wandering around the castle and its grounds, re-familiarising himself with the layout, and satisfying his curiosity. It was both amusing and sad that he had had to break into the older wings where several of his treasured memories had taken place. They were now boarded up, locked away and forgotten, left to gather and collect dust, because the extra space was no longer needed. The silence and solitude helped to comfort him and prepare for the year of intense scrutiny he was about to be put under as he frequently snuck off to let lose his Old Magic and start retraining his New.

Lost deep within his thoughts, Merlin missed the distant but telltale clatter of the students barrelling into the castle, (most) eager for another year to begin. He jumped violently as the doors were flung open and they began pouring in, filling up the tables. Some completely ignored him, and a few gave him a cursory glance before dismissing him. A few looked at him sideways, and they were mostly in his age group or his house. Still, even when the seats around him were filled up, he was ignored. The excited chattering continued everybody had settled down, and a slightly pudgy dark haired boy with kind eyes had just leaned across to speak with Merlin when the sharp sound of heeled boots hit the floor, Professor McGonagall descending from the dais.

"Attention Gryffindors!" She called, standing at the head of the table. Gradually, the clamour died down – though not without the use of pointed elbows digging in to squishy flesh – and all waited in anticipation: from experience, Merlin knew that an announcement before the Sorting Ceremony was rare.

"The more observant of you would have noticed that there is a new addition to our ranks this year. Myrddin Ambrosia is a transfer student, who will be a permanent addition to our House. I wish for you all to show why he should be proud to be a Gryffindor."

Those further down the table began to half rise in their seats in order to gain a look at him, whilst those closest shot him a smile, with the boy from earlier whispering a quiet "hello", his eyes alight with understanding as Merlin began to squirm, still uncomfortable after all these years being the centre of attention.

"Harry, Ronald, Dean, Seamus and Neville, please stand up. Myrddin is to be your new year mate and thus shall sleep in your dormitory. Thank you all for listening."

With that, McGonagall swept her way out of the Great Hall, heading towards the first years that were anxiously in the nave to be sorted. The boys sat down, and gradually conversation began to flow again, although those who seemed close in age were regarding him curiously, the girls especially.

"I'm Neville," The boy opposite Merlin said quietly. "Neville Longbottom."

He looked almost afraid when he said his second name, as if Merlin would look down his nose and sneer at him.

"You already know who I am," Merlin said with a smile. "I'm Myrddin Ambrosia. Pleased to meet you."

He offered his hand out, and hesitantly, Neville shook it, his strong grip betraying his timid persona.

"I hope you don't mind me asking," Neville began hesitantly, "But you have a strange accent which I don't recognise. Where's it from?"

Merlin smiled, slightly melancholic. "Home. It's rather far away I'm afraid."

That same spark of understanding was still in Neville's eyes, and he nodded in acquiescence. He opened his mouth to change the subject, but was interrupted by a girl with long brown bushy hair.

"Did you attend Durmstrang then?" She asked curiously. Next to her, a boy with ginger hair sneered in disgust.

"Wanting to hear from _Vicky_ are we-"

The girl turned, her eyes flashing with fury to regard her dinnertime companion. To help defuse the suddenly tense and slightly awkward atmosphere (though interestingly, the other occupants only seemed resigned to the seemingly inevitable argument that was brewing between them) Merlin answered her question and unspoken assumption.

"No. I haven't transferred from Durmstrang nor from any other schools, before you ask."

The girl turned back round to him, and many shot him grateful glances, Neville and Harry included. "Oh," She said, visibly surprised. "I'm sorry – it's just your accent is very similar to their students you see."

Merlin raised his eyebrows, secretly amused at how close, and yet far the girl's deduction was: his speech was clouded by the Camelot accent, kept there by determination and a sense of loyalty to his home and his king. Camelot had spoken a mixture of Welsh and Old English, with the latter being closely related to the Germanic languages. It was impressive that she had been able to pick up on the similarities.

Merlin waved her off. "No worries: a lot of people are wrong about my nationality. It's nothing new and no harm done."

The red head snorted again. "Hermione, wrong? She hates that."

Merlin's ears perked up with interest. "Hermione?" He asked curiously, a teasing one colouring his voice. "That's Greek, yet you have a British accent. Do I detect a fellow oddity?"

She watched him with amusement. "I'm afraid you don't. My parents were just a fan of the classics – my last name is Granger and _Oh_ I haven't introduced myself, I'm so sorry!"

She gesticulated wildly, encompassing her friends. "My name is Hermione Granger. This is Ron Weasley (who grinned at him, his snit apparently forgotten), and Harry Potter."

"Thank goodness you realised – I thought you had told me your names and I had just forgotten them. I'm Myrddin, by the wave." He gave a little wave, secretly amused by the startled looks the trio gave each other when he didn't appear to be fazed about meeting the famous Boy Who Lived.

"So how come you're only joining now?" asked Ron curiously, "Is it usual to have transfers?"

"Well according to Hogwarts: A History –"

"I don't know I'm afraid. I have only just got here after all."

Ron had the grace to seem embarrassed. Luckily, Harry took over the interrogation, smoothing over the potential awkwardness.

"What did you have to do to get in?"

"I had to do a series of tests, both written and practical. It later turned out the Professors returned to Hogwarts specifically for me, which I feel guilty about. I did the written tests in front of Professor McGonagall and the Transfiguration exercise – you know a teapot into a tortoise and so on. Then Professor Flitwick came and tested me on Charms. I went to the Greenhouses so Madame Sprout could see how I interacted with some of the plants she chose."

"Which Greenhouse did you go into?" Neville asked curiously, making Harry and Ron jump with surprise.

"Four."

"Ah," Neville hummed, deep in thought. "So Devil's Snare, (here the Golden Trio smirked at each other) Puffapods and Venomous Tentacles?"

"Yes." He grimaced. "The tentacles took a special liking to me and the Wizzentree didn't want me to leave. Don't know what that says about me!"

He winked, and Hermione and Neville laughed, leaving the other two confused at his joke. The Wizzentree was a plant who protected those in contact with it from Dark creatures and Magic, whilst simultaneously attacking the dark forces. It had yearned for Merlin due to his connection with the Old Magic, from which it had been created by.

"What about DADA?"

"Oh, that was after the Potions practical with Professor Snape. I had to make a Blood Replenishing one for the school stock. The duel was hard though –"

"What?!" Harry exploded. "You fought Snape? Did you win?"

" _Professor_ Snape Harry!" Hermione countered in exasperation. Neville just whimpered.

"I would have hated that."

Thankfully, Merlin was saved from salvaging the situation by the doors which led to the Entrance Hall opening. A long line of students began to enter the Hall – although Merlin noted with sadness that it was one of the smallest intakes he had seen - led by Professor McGonagall, who was carrying the stool upon which sat the Sorting Hat. The buzz of talk in the Great Hall faded away as everybody turned expectantly to the front, ready to welcome the newcomers. The first years lined up in front of the staff table facing the rest of the students, looking absolutely petrified whilst Professor McGonagall placed the stool carefully in front of them, before stepping back to the side, scroll unrolled and waiting to be read from.

The whole school waited with bated breath. Then the rip near the hat's brim opened wide like a mouth and the Sorting Hat burst into song;

 _Once there were four people,_

 _Who came together to start anew,_

 _They built a school for magic great,_

 _To teach everything they knew._

 _These four people are the great founders,_

 _Powerful magic users in their time,_

 _Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin,_

 _At the peak of their prime._

 _But did you know, there was a fifth,_

 _That came from time of old,_

 _He rose up from the lowest depths_

 _And then put time on hold._

 _He taught the four new founders,_

 _Of magic both new and old,_

 _And watched as they completed tasks,_

 _With eyes that glowed hot gold._

 _After a while, he could not stay,_

 _For risk of secrets being known,_

 _So hid deep within shadows big,_

 _Whilst great seeds were being sown._

 _Founders four, did not fare well,_

 _Without their mentor great,_

 _Soon fought and argued, bickered with hate,_

 _Not heeding the warning bells._

 _Then one day, the last straw,_

 _And Slytherin lost the fight,_

 _So took off, into the night,_

 _And left his friends behind._

 _But one day, the awful happened,_

 _And Slytherin got a chill,_

 _Lying there, heaved his final breath,_

 _His master there as he greeted death._

 _The mentor had lost another friend,_

 _And fate had finally gone too far,_

 _So he withdrew from the world,_

 _And waited for the shining star._

 _The end approaches, the time is near,_

 _To end his eternal rest,_

 _He rallies forth, as from the sphere,_

 _The future he sees appears._

 _So if you see him, do not be afraid_

 _For help is finally at hand,_

 _As he walks alone, protecting this place,_

 _Please help him all you can._

 _His oldest enemy, of friend once good,_

 _Arises from the dead,_

 _In one final battle, the deed will be done,_

 _And the debt will be repaid._

 _Hogwarts is in danger,_

 _From external, deadly foes,_

 _And we must reunite inside her,_

 _Or we'll crumble as we close._

 _But heed my words, and listen wisely,_

 _For change is up ahead,_

 _My final sentence, is all important,_

 _Some people change, when they are dead._

The Hall plunged into an unearthly silence.

"Well that's new." Merlin said into the quiet.

* * *

Eventually, the surprise and shock wore off. The Professors - with the exception of the pink monstrosity – had began to converse in whispers, their heads canted slightly towards one another. Dumbledore was staring pensively at the ceiling, ignoring the controlled chaos around him, whilst McGonagall, still frowning, had begun to call out the names in order to restore some normalcy.

"Branched out a bit this year, hasn't it?" said Ron, his eyebrows raised.

"Too right it has," Harry said with feeling.

"I wonder if it has ever given warnings before?" said Hermione, sounding slightly anxious.

"Yes, indeed." A ghost appeared out of nowhere, and Nearly Headless Nick leant across Neville who winced (Merlin sympathised; it was never a _nice_ feeling to have a ghost–Dorocha he was looking at you - move through you). "The Hat feels honour bound to give the school due warning when it feels something is about to happen. Never of this kind though..."

"Is it true then, that there was a fifth founder?"

"Well, I've never heard of it, but I suppose that it would be possible..." He trailed off, only just noticing their dinner time companion.

Nicholas floated there, as he stared openly at Merlin, his mouth moving up and down, but no sound coming out. The Warlock's eyes flashed in warning, and gulping, Nick blinked. One useful thing Merlin had been able to do was to send a message to all of the Castle's permanent inhabitants was that he was back, and to not break his cover. That wasn't to say they would listen to him – they rarely did – but they had been suitably warned, and after the first who babbled had been made an example of, the rest would stay silent and follow suit.

"Yes... It would certainly be possible."

The Ghost stared hard at Merlin, and the Warlock gave a small sharp jerk of his head to signify his approval and appreciation of not immediately betraying his unusual status. Not that the ghost knew of course – at least, not for definite – but Merlin had been around Hogwarts long enough and often enough that they all knew he was special. Different.

Merlin noticed that the others were looking at Nick rather oddly, but before one of them could act upon their whims, the Gryffindor Table erupted into cheers and yells, and belatedly, they realised that the Sorting had started. Grudgingly, they decided to pay attention, Merlin being the exception.

The Sorting Hat had made a song about him that much was clear. But _why?_ He had never done it before – had never _needed_ –

It had been less than a month since Morgana had returned and life had changed for Merlin. Closer to three weeks, really. It was just over a fortnight since he had sent that letter to Dumbledore requesting a transfer. The Sorting Hat might have known it was him, even though he had never been a transfer student at this high a level before, or perhaps he had only known about Merlin's arrival when he has sorted him, but even so – unless the Hat had been writing the lyrics nonstop since their meeting, the only other possible explanation was that -

The Sorting Hat knew what was to come. And that was unthinkable. Because that meant that for all of his cryptic remarks, he had deliberately withheld vital information for the war ahead.

It meant that he had broken the enchantment that had once been placed on him a long time ago, and that he had willingly lied to a Founder.

Merlin was torn from his morbid thoughts by the Great Hall bursting into one final round of applause, and he focused just in time to see the Hat being carried away by McGonagall, the Sorting finally over. The Hall quieted expectantly as Dumbledore stood up, his long hair and beard out in full force and not tucked into his bet, his hands thrown out wildly in a gesture of welcome.

"To our newcomers, welcome, to our old hands – welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!"

Laughter rang throughout the hall as the occupant heeded the Headmaster's words, Merlin joining in. If only Arthur had done that at all the feasts, he would have been able to eat a lot more. He blinked, to find that the food had appeared out of nowhere, which even Camelot's magnificent food had a hard time rivalling.

Hermione it seemed, had not been distracted or deterred by the large length of time that had passed since the previous conversation had ended, as she immediately turned to Nicholas to continue interrogating him.

"You were saying something about the warnings –" She prompted.

"Hmm? Oh yes, I have heard the Hat say several warnings before, always at times when it detected periods of great danger for the school. And always, of course, it advice was to stand together, though never in such detail."

"It wants all the houses to be friends?" Harry said, as he looked over to the Slytherin table. "Fat chance."

"Well, now, you shouldn't take that kind of attitude," said Nick reprovingly. "Peaceful co-operation, that's the key. We ghosts, though we belong to separate houses, maintain links of friendship. I would never _dream_ of making an argument with the Bloody Baron."

Merlin had to work hard to contain the snort that the statement elicited from him. Ron it seemed had no such self control.

"Only because you're terrified of him!"

Nearly Headless Nick looked highly affronted, an expression which frequently adorned his visage. "Terrified? I hope that I, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, have never been guilty of cowardice in my life!"

"We all know that, Nicholas. I have never doubted you." Merlin spoke soothingly, casting a warning glance at Ron who seemed set on disagreeing.

"Indeed you do, indeed you do..." said Nick, once again looking straight at Merlin. "Even so, I will not tolerate disrespect!" With that, the ghost drifted towards the other end of the table where two boys with similar mousy brown hair and an excitable disposition were sitting. Immediately, they engaged the ghost in conversation, and Nicholas quickly became ratified.

"Ron! What have I told you about thinking before you speak?"

Ron looked slightly guilty as Hermione snapped at him. Merlin sighed inwardly. It seemed that if he was to fit in with this group and to become good friends with Harry, his role would be to continually diffuse the tension between the two.

"So how exactly does the food appear?"

He watched in mild satisfaction as Hermione turned to him, her eyes alight with enthusiasm as she began to explain in minute detail how the House Elves cooked the food, before using their own special branch of magic to –

Merlin looked up briefly to catch Harry's eyes, raising an eyebrow. The unspoken message was clear:

 _You owe me._

* * *

"I can't believe it. I actually can't believe it. The sheer bloody _nerve!"_ Merlin ranted into the silence, dragging Harry along behind him.

"The impudence! The arrogance! The stupidity!"

Almost callously, he stuffed the Boy Who Lived behind a tapestry, tapping the stones in a complicated pattern to reveal the secret passage behind.

"I'll show them. I'll show them all. And I'll give 'em the old one-two as well. Coming here, planting an imposter to control _my_ school? _This_ is what the Ministry is doing nowadays?"

"Mate I think you need to calm down and – what language are you speaking?"

"What?"

Merlin was flummoxed enough to stop in his tracks. The passageway had no light, but Harry had lit the tip of his wand with the _lumos_ charm. The Warlock had the grace to be embarrassed that he had been so preoccupied with his fuming that he hadn't noticed the darkness – indeed he could navigate Hogwarts blind – nor that he had switched back to the Old Tongue. Which was just as well, he quickly realised, with the things he was sprouting.

"I – you're right. It's just –" Merlin ran his hands frustratingly through his hair. "I've only just got here and the bloody Ministry are _already_ ruining things. The prejudiced morons."

"So you – you don't believe them?"

The tentative hope in the boy's hope broke Merlin a little, and it was enough to calm his anger. A gentle smile formed, and the Warlock's eyes crinkled in the corners.

"No, Harry. I don't. I believe _you."_

He was tempted to add that he'll always believe in Harry – and it was true, in the things that mattered anyway – as he sensed that the boy needed complete and absolute pure _belief,_ but it would come across as slightly strange and a bit too romantic for both of their tastes, especially due to their hour's old acquaintance.

"When people are scared, Harry, they act in mysterious ways. There are those that say that love is the most powerful motivator, but fear rivals that well. The Daily Prophet and the Ministry are succeeding partly due to people _not_ wanting to live in fear again. They will come round: they always do."

Harry stared glumly at the floor. "But those kids – they looked at me and they _feared_ me, _hated_ me."

Merlin frowned. Harry was referring to the incident after the feast had ended which that _pink monstrosity_ had ruined. A group of the new students were walking shyly up the gap between the two tables, all trying hard not to lead the group. Merlin and Harry grinned at the group, but then a blond boy looked petrified and nudged a fellow student next to him and whispered something in his ear. The Warlock had wondered what they were repulsed at, until he felt Harry shift from his position of being slightly behind him, and turned to find the grin sliding of his year mate's face. That was why they were in the secret passage – Merlin had dragged them here immediately after, so the Chosen One could avoid the sneers and taunts.

"But in time, they will love you, and worship you. Things might seem bad, but I expect that when all of this is over, when the fight against Voldemort has been won and you are forced to bask eternally in adulteration, a small part of you will yearn for these dark days when you were ignored because you were hated."

Harry regarded him with curiosity.

"You're sounding very wise. You speak as if you understand."

Merlin gave a half smile. "I read a lot as a child. It rubs off on you. Gives you a certain amount of empathy."

Harry threw back his head and laughed. "It seems like Hermione has another contender!"

* * *

"So why have you come to Hogwarts? You never said." Ron asked through his mouthful of buttered toast.

Merlin wrinkled his nose in disgust, but didn't let the unseemly sight deter him from his breakfast.

"Pass me that croissant will you Neville? Thanks. It was my Uncle's wishes for me to be able to attend a magical school. Hogwarts is the obvious choice."

"But why _now?_ " The Ginger continued to press.

"He died."

His breakfast companions paused for a moment, falling silent.

"I'm sorry mate I didn't mean to – I didn't know –"

"It's fine, really." The Warlock forced a smile on his face and busied himself with eating his breakfast.

"So were you home schooled?" Asked Harry curiously after a few minutes of awkward silence passed.

"Yes, my mother first started it when I showed signs of magic. We lived in a rural village though with various non magical people around so she grew rightly alarmed when I first started to use it unknowingly."

Here, Merlin began to grin, thinking back to what his mother Hunith had to have gone through when he was a baby.

"I put a whole new definition of the Victorian saying that "children should be seen and not heard." The terror my mother constantly felt at being found put immense stress on her. I never quite understood that." The smile grew melancholic. "Eventually, my uncle took over and continued my education, right up until he passed away."

"Is that normal?" Harry said confusedly. "I thought everybody was taught in schools like Hogwarts."

"It's not really; it was simply a combination of unique circumstances and my parents' beliefs that led to it."

Hermione frowned, but before the conversation could be continued, Harry noticed that Professor McGonagall was walking towards their way, handing out timetables, and thus began a new discussion.

"So what are you taking then, Myrddin?"

"My electives are thus; Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures."

Hermione brightened while Ron groaned.

"You really _are_ another Hermione." The words were cruel, but the tone fond. Hermione playfully swatted at him.

. "At last, another Gryffindor for Ancient Runes! It really is the most interesting subject, isn't it Myrddin?"

Seeing Merlin's confused visage, Harry expanded. "Ron and I both take Divination. So did Hermione, but she dropped it after claiming Trelawney was a fraud and the subject pointless and took up Ancient Runes instead. But we all do Care of Magical Creatures though – our friend Hagrid does it – you'll like it!"

His tone grew more excited, and Merlin let himself become infected, ignoring the pursed lips Hermione made at the final comment. It was then that Professor McGonagall reached them, and tapping each piece of parchment with her wand, she handed out their timetables, Ron first and Merlin last due to their positioning on the bench.

"Mister Ambrosia," she added as she handed him his timetable. "The Headmaster mentioned that you were open to being tested. Your usual free period on Wednesday is thus going to be when Madame Pomfrey shall test you. Report to the Hospital Wing sharp. If I recall correctly, it precedes Ancient Runes and thus I am sure Miss Granger would be more than happy to help you on your way if you remain unsure with your way around this school."

She looked over her glasses, and gave him a small but kind thin lipped smile. "I am pleased you have decided to accept our offer, Myrddin. I hope the outcome will enable us to give you a much more suitable education for you."

Merlin ducked his head in an old fashioned show of acknowledgement and respect. "My thanks, Professor, for Hogwarts' kindness."

She blinked, and if she was a lesser woman, Merlin would swear that the Transfiguration Professor was flustered at his response. She moved quickly onwards though, patiently answering the questions of a few younger students further down the table. He looked up from his perusal of his timetable to find Harry frowning at him, but luckily the Ginger hadn't been paying attention, and thus interrupted his best friend before he could speak.

"Look at today!" groaned Ron. "History of Magic, double Potions, Divination and double Defence against the Dark Arts... Binns, Snape, Trelawney and that Umbridge that you mentioned was at your hearing all in one day! I wish Fred and George'd hurry up and get those Skiving Snack boxes sorted..."

"Doth mine ears deceive me?" said a ginger boy, arriving with another ginger and squeezing in onto the bench next to Harry.

"Hogwarts prefects surely don't wish to skive off lessons?"

"Look what we've got today," Ron said grumpily, shoving his timetable under one of the boy's nose. "That's the worst Monday I've ever seen."

"Fair point, little bro," said Ginger Number One. "You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like."

Merlin started to feel confused. What on earth were Nosebleed Nougat and Skiving Snack boxes? Well, he supposed, the clue was in the label, but surely somebody hadn't been stupid enough to-

"Why's it cheap?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"Because you'll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, we haven't got an antidote yet," said Ginger Number Two cheerfully.

"Cheers," Ron said moodily, "but I think I'll take the lessons."

"And speaking of Skiving Snack boxes," said Hermione, eyeing the twins beadily, "you can't advertise for tester on the Gryffindor notice board."

"Says who?" said the twins together, looking astonished.

"Says, me" said Hermione. "And Ron."

"Leave me out of it," Ron said hastily. He seemed to shrivel under the intensity of the girl's gaze, and sank down in his chair slightly.

"You'll be singing a different tune soon enough. You're starting fifth year, so you'll be begging us before too long."

"Why would being in fifth year mean I'll want one of your products?"

"Fifth year's OWL year," said Ginger Number One.

"So?"

"So you've got exams coming up haven't you? They'll be keeping your noses so hard to the grindstone that they'll be rubbed raw," the other spoke in savage satisfaction.

"Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to OWLs," the first recounted happily. "Tears and tantrums... Patricia Simpson kept coming over faint..."

"Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?" said Twin Two reminiscently.

"That's 'cause you put Bulbadox powder in his pyjamas."

"Oh yeah," said Twin Two grinning. "I'd forgotten... hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?"

Up until now, Merlin had remained silent and completely ignored, but with the mention of Bulbadox powder, his interest peaked.

"How did you manage to stop the sweating sickness?" He asked curiously.

Ginger Number One eyed him beadily.

"The sweating sickness – what are you, a pensioner? But for your information, with my brilliance –"

"And my brains –"

"And our stunning good looks –"

"We simply froze the powder first in lemon juice. The acid from –"

"The lemon is known for its properties of reducing liquid and the combination of the loss of temperature is enough to act as an instant relief," Merlin realised out loud. He added admirably, "That really is _quite_ brilliant."

The Gingers flushed. "We know. That's why we did it."

* * *

To put it simply, History of Magic was _extremely_ dull. Seeing as Merlin had lived through most of it, he already knew more than the teacher of the subject could ever possibly conceive. Even taking into consideration that history was constantly being rewritten and thus the true accounts were dismissed and lost to the mists of time, he was still always going to excel due to taking the subject multiple times. Busy chattering away to Neville about plants – he had found out the shy boy had a affirmation towards plants and Herbology in general and the boy was excited about his extensive knowledge on plants – he didn't notice that class had started until the ghost was floating before him.

Merlin froze.

Professor Binns had dedicated the majority of his natural life to being a teacher, and this dedication to his passion was prolonged eternally in his afterlife. In total, he had been a staple of Hogwarts life for a little under two hundred years – long enough to be one of the few to experience multiple incarnations of the Warlock.

"Good morning Meryn."

The Warlock didn't breathe. Meryn – he was referring to Merlin's last persona, a clumsy yet strangely popular Hufflepuff who often struggled with even the most basic of spells yet was still unusually powerful.

"It has indeed been a long time since you were last here, was it not?"

People started to turn round and began to listen in to their conversation.

"Indeed. I would apologise for the intrusion but lessons to learn and hence forthwith."

The Ghost floated, pondering him. More and more people were paying attention now, because Merlin knew it was rare for the spirit to concentrate on anything other than his lecture notes for long periods of time.

"You shall persist in your outlandish views I suppose."

Merlin gave a half smile. "It was as I learnt, Professor. One cannot undo years of lessons taught well so easily."

"The same, always the same..." Binns muttered quietly, seemingly to himself, then seeing Merlin's warning look, said loudly for all the class to hear; "But you shall not distract me for any longer. Class, you will settle down. Today we are going to be covering Trolls..."

He began to float back to the front, his voice settling into the familiar drone that Merlin instantly tuned out from years of experience. He turned when he felt Ron's quill dig into the side of his arm.

"Don't worry; he does it all the time."

Merlin sighed in relief, and then answered Ron's kindness with a smile before settling down to doodle. There was no point in taking notes – he knew all of the material anyway.

* * *

Merlin joined the queue waiting outside the Potions classroom, Neville once again by his side. The boy was quietly, stuttering very time the Warlock had made an attempt at conversation and eventually, he had given up. The boy radiated nerves, and he was practically shivering in fear, though that could have been due to the perpetual cold. The door into the classroom opened behind him, and immediately everyone fell silent as they all filed into the freezing cold room.

"Settle down," Snape said coldly, shutting the door behind him. "Before we begin today's lesson," Snape said as he swept over to stand in front of his desk," I think it's appropriate to remind you that next June you'll be sitting your OWL's. I expect you all to scrape an 'Acceptable' in your OWL, or suffer my... displeasure."

Snape's gaze lingered on Neville, who gulped in terror. Merlin frowned; it was a cruel act to intimidate the boy.

"After this year, many of you will cease to sturdy with me," Snape went on. "I take only the best into my NEWT Potions class, which means some of you will almost certainly be saying goodbye."

The black eyes rested behind Merlin, where he knew that Harry stood.

"But we have another year before that happy moment of farewell, so whether or not you intend to do NEWT level, I advise you all to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high pass level I expect from all of you."

"Today, we will be attempting the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned; if you're too heavy handed, you'll put the drinker into a deep and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you must pay attention to what you are doing."

Merlin sensed Hermione straightening up next to him as she heeded the potion master's words. In contrast he slouched back into his sleep. The Draught of Peace – how _boring._ This was a potion which had to be made daily, for –

Merlin deliberately stopped thinking, and focused back onto the Professor. Snape flicked his wand, as if in response to his attention.

"The ingredients and method are on the blackboard, and everything you need is in the store cupboard-" He flicked his wand again and the door to the store cupboard flew open- "You have until the end of the lesson to finish."

The Warlock sat in his seat, bored whilst he let the initial crush of people die down after everybody immediately stampeded to the store cupboard in order to collect the required ingredients. To occupy himself, he drew mindlessly, a sketch of the Princess Elena taking hold. Next to him, Hermione had returned and set down her ingredients with a huff, impatiently lifting her mane of her hair away from her eyes. The scratching of his quill caught her attention.

" _Merlin,"_ she hissed, jolting him with the use of his real name, "Do you _want_ to be crucified? Go and get your ingredients and start Myrddin!"

He sighed, realising that she had used his name as an exclamative. An annoying habit that the Wizarding World had in general, he had found. Reluctantly, he pushed himself off his stool and strolled to the cupboard, where he spent five minutes carefully selecting his ingredients, deliberately choosing the worst ones – those that were poor in quality, and often turning rancid, letting out toxic fumes. When he returned, he found Hermione feverishly stirring her potion and muttering to herself. Ginning at the challenge he had just set himself, the Warlock set to work with practiced hands, never needing to look at the board for instructions. His merriment was fuelled when he caught sight of his drawing, the memory of the Princess Elena being possessed by a Changeling one of amusement.

Even though he could create the potion within minutes, he forced himself to slow down considerably, and after he calculated that it would only just slightly above average, Merlin settled back in his chair and gazed around the room. Beside him, Hermione looked distractedly over to him, then seeing that he was doing nothing, snapped;

"What are you doing sitting there? You can't have finished!"

Merlin was surprised and then asked curiously; "Why not?"

"We still have fifty minutes to go! That's why! You must have got something wrong, to be finished so quickly."

With that, Hermione quickly went back to her own cauldron, where she began stirring it slowly with extreme precision. Huh. The Warlock checked his cauldron: it was perfect, even with the substandard ingredients he had deliberately used. He settled back into his stool with pride, finishing off his portrait of the Princess with a flourish. After a while, he became aware of a presence and looking up, found Snape standing in front of him.

"Ah, Mister Ambrosia, our new classmate. Tell me, Ambrosia, do you think yourself so arrogant and unique with your newly arrived status that you think it acceptable to doodle in my class and are self centred enough to not realise you are supposed to be potion making, or are you such a dunderhead that you have yet to be able to comprehend the instructions?"

The room grew quieter, with most conversations stopping, and everybody watched with bated breath to see how Merlin would respond. He could see behind him, a few of the Slytherins silently laughing as they watched a Gryffindor get into trouble.

"Unique sir, definitely unique."

Snape snarled. "A wisecrack I see. Typical Gryffindor. Fifteen points taken for sheer laziness, with another ten taken for every minute you spent wasting time."

With that, he aimed to sweep back to the front of the classroom, clearly thinking he had won their little confrontation.

"Such an unfair consequence for one who has already completed the activity."

" _What_?" Snape turned back towards Merlin in apparent surprise.

"I have finished, Sir." Merlin said loudly. It echoed around the room, and those who were not paying attention before now suddenly grew silent, as everybody watched in astonishment.

"Impossible," The man countered. "Clearly you are a liar and a charlatan as well as lazy."

"No, it's simply improbable... to you."

Merlin picked up his ladle, and dipped it in his cauldron before tipping it sideways, the liquid delicately sliding out and landing back into the cauldron with a small _plop._ Predictably, Snape stormed back up.

"A mistake riddled work." He dismissed.

"Oh? In that case," Merlin said, grabbing the ladle once more, "You shouldn't mind if I do this!"

He raised the ladle to his lips, easily evading the Potions Master's roar of _"You fool,"_ and subsequent swipe.

" _Ah,"_ He sighed, smacking his lips loudly in the deafening silence. "Cranberry. Delicious." He turned, and offered the ladle to the Professor. "Would you care for some, Professor? I rather think you require some. You look awfully under the weather."

The dour man stared at him, and then snatched at the label, finally assessing the contents within. He stopped, his eyes switching from the potion and then back to the Warlock for several moments. Merlin made sure he had his smarmiest smile plastered onto his face. Truth be told, he wasn't too sure why he was acting up so much – maybe it was because the man was clearly favouring his own house over others, deliberating terrorising Neville over his clumsiness when he had the makings of a great Optioned due to his ability in Herbology. Or perhaps it was because thinking of Elena and _her_ made her think of Arthur, and he was reverting back to his old ways.

Or perhaps he was bored. It could be either, really. Or, most likely, a combination of all three.

Snape snapped

"How have you managed to complete it so soon? A NEWT student would not be able to make it as quickly and they would have had an 'Outstanding' in Potions."

Behind the Potions master, Merlin could see that the Slytherins who were hoping for him to be in trouble looked shocked and slightly disappointed. In particular, a pale, thin, blond boy sitting next to two boys who both looked alarmingly like gorillas seemed almost crushed by the fact that Merlin wasn't getting points taken off or detention. Or death.

"I have what a NEWT student doesn't."

"And pray tell, what is that?"

Merlin shrugged. "My Uncle, Gaius." Realisation slowly dawned on the Potions Master's face. "He taught me everything regarding school, but I also helped out in his experiments and testing. I became his Apprentice. Towards the end, I made most of the brews needed, with minimal supervision, with him only helping now and again by making his own. And eventually, as it forever is, I was on my own creating brews."

"The taste of cranberries?"

A melancholic smile was elicited by that response.

"I'm sure you will agree with me when I say yonder: the tastes of potions are appalling. It was in our duty of care to lessen the pain for our patients. The cranberries, admittedly was a side effect of using the rancid flobberworms – usually it has a more raspberry flavour."

The man remained silent for a moment. "Indeed. Very well." Snape looked around and seeing that everybody was paying attention to them, continued angrily; "Well go on! You have forty eight minutes left and you're doing nothing?"

With realisation, everybody frantically returned to their cauldrons. But due to their negligence, several of the potions had over boiled, and some were close to spoiling or becoming dangerous.

"Ah." Merlin said in realisation, looking around. "That – that was not my intention. Oh dear."

Snape lifted a sardonic eyebrow. "A rash action typical of a Gryffindor. You are now solely responsible for the majority of your fellow students' failing mark this lesson."

Merlin smirked. "Challenge accepted."

Walking around the classroom, Merlin stopped and helped every single person, whether it was Slytherins or Gryffindors. Of course, he was glared at, and several times his help was rejected, always by those clad in emerald and silver. Inwardly, the Warlock sighed: stupid house rivalry. Honestly, this was often why he preferred to be in Hufflepuff – noneof _that_ stupidity occurred _there._

He wandered to the very front, where the blond boy and the two towering pieces of muscles sat. He was just in time to grab Muscle Man One's arm to stop him from dropping something in the cauldron.

"Don't put that in there! It will make your flask explode when you collect it in, and we shouldn't ruin a good potion now, should we?"

Merlin gave a friendly smile to the boy, who grunted before setting his arm back down. He turned to look into Muscle Man Two's cauldron, where he again, stopped him.

"Is this the work of a copycat I detect, or are you two that closely entwined? You, my friend, are failing the same test as your comrade." The brute squinted at him stupidly, before slowly gathering the correct ingredients which Merlin had to helpfully point out and dropping in without pomp into the cauldron.

Merlin looked up, to find the blond boy staring at him, a sneer adorning his haughty face, his back straight and – _for the love of Camelot he reminded him of Arthur._ He simply stared for a moment, lost in the similarities.

"Paint a portrait: it shall last longer," The boy snarked derisively.

"I quite agree. Your hair won't be so perfectly placed unless you pay attention to the potion and not waste your time sneering at me."

The boy glared, and then said sharply "I don't need your help, _Gryffindor_."

Merlin watched him, steadily.

"It's like that, then, is it?"

The boy sniffed. "You might have had some training with a no name Physician, but _I_ am the Scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy."

"Bad play," Merlin mused. "Yes I can certainly see the characteristics."

The boy smirked, proud. More fool him, unheeding the insult and the veiled warning. So much for being cunning.

With that, Merlin walked away, and returned to his row. There, he went to Harry and Ron, where he made the former add the Hellebore and the latter to lower the heat on his cauldron. After those two, he spent the remainder of the lesson with Neville, where he found that Neville wasn't bad at potions, he was _really_ bad. Patiently explaining to him where he went wrong, the time passed so quickly that he was startled when Snape announced the end of the lesson.

"Potions are to be bottled into a flask and labelled clearly before being brought up to my desk, for me to grade them." The man's lip curled upwards into a sneer. "Your homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday."

Merlin walked back over to his original seat, and leaned over to pick up his bag. He had already dropped off his flask at the desk when he had first started offering his help, to prevent some uncouth person from attempting to sabotage his position.

He was interrupted however, by a loud BANG which reverberated throughout the room. When the smoke cleared, everybody stared at the cause; a liquefied cauldron with the potion running onto the floor. The victim was soaking wet and even though Merlin was at the other side, he could see the skin turning red and the quiet hisses of pain as it burnt into his skin.

The Warlock made eye contact with the culprit, a knowing glint in his eye. It seemed that Malfoy had not listened to what he had said.

* * *

 **There you are: A glorious 8025 words. I apologise for the late running, as well as neglectinig my kind reviewers and not answering your queries.**

 _ **Crystal:**_ **There you are, the first Draco interaction. I feel that the first time I wrote this, he changed much too quickly, from canon version to my, slightly crack! and gentler Draco, who whilst cunning in his own right, was not the right sort of cunning. I shall hopefully rectify that now: I am afraid there shall be no sudden character changes.**

 **Guest: Thank you very much for your kind words. I quite agree regarding the wand - It was a nice idea that I had, but it would be a very ostentatious and in-your-face kind of warn with the amount of detailed carving it apparently held, espiecally considering the extremely small surface area. Thus I toned it down. With the Hat, it is both tired and amused - I think it would like having one companion who would occassionally visit and understand what it endured day after day. As you can see, the thread regarding dyslexia shall continue, as well as Merlin's noticable accent.**

 **TheNightFury: First of, your English is BRILLIANT. anybody who tells you otherwise are asses and should be ignored : ) .** **With regards to Merlin having dyslexia, no he does not. The Professors assume logically that Merlin has it however to help excuse the oddities he has. Merlin is immortal and has lived for centuaries through very intense periods of language change. Shakespeare, for example, or the invention of the Printing Press. What makes matters worse, is that he had also missed a lot of the changes due to travelling, and in the last centuary being asleep, so he's missed the modern changes to English. Thus, his pronounciation of words are different due to retaining his original Old English/Welsh accent and also to announcing them as he originally would have encountered/learnt them, which often would have been centuaries ago. In addition, the changes in writing are a lot less slower than English, and Merlin has not yet had a chance to "catch up" so to speak (he doesn't even realise that the way he writes is outdated). The way he writes and his phrasing is very formal, and rather flowery language - again think of Shakespeare.**

 **I hope that helps : ) For Draco, see the reply to Crystal's review who was also concerned about our favourite Slytherin :)**

 **Again, I apologise for the delay. This last fortnight seems to be the optimum time for people to start suffering break downs and people generally acting horrible towards each other. I've spent most of my free days travelling to different universities in order to cheer up my friends who are being brought down and walked upon by their peers.**

 **I wish everybody a happy week. Until next time! : )**


	5. Umbridge

**So. Where to begin? First, let us note that the title has finally, FINALLY, been changed! The Prophesised Vice this shall now be known as.**

 **Secondly, I really AM sorry for not updating this sooner. Unfortunately, two of my modules created a group project in order to give us something to do while the strikes were carried out (which is fair enough but were rather time consuming) as well as having two essays and an exam. Also, my phone came out sledging with me and never made it back which wasn't ideal, considering it had my copy of this chapter on it, so I had to rewrite.**

 **On the plus side however, I have now planned out chapter-by-chapter what's going to occur in this story up until Valentine's Day! So that's a BIG plus (and is only just over 44 chapters which was the old story length, so wahey for planning! However that DOES mean that a lot – and I mean A LOT – of scenes, especially my half assed pranks (which is strange cos that makes up a lot of my free time at university) have been cut. Sorry.**

 _The Prophesised Vice_

 _Chapter Four – Umbridge_

On the walk up from the dungeons to the fifth floor, reactions to Myrddin tended towards absolute silence or intense chatter. Hermione was the former, striding towards their collective doom with a disapproving yet slightly puzzled quiet air, whilst Harry and Ron switched between the two rapidly, depending on whether the "slimy snakes" were involved. Merlin inwardly scoffed at that, but managed to contain his distain at their prejudice. Neville, meanwhile, whilst immensely grateful for Merlin's help and impressed at his defiance of the Potions Master, had quickly reigned in his reaction, instead choosing to talk about plants and their propetites, for which Merlin was grateful for. He hadn't realised that there would be such extreme reactions to his behaviour.

They were still chattering as they entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, too absolved in their conversation to notice that their fellow students had stopped talking: likely due to the unknown factor seated at the teacher's desk, especially when concerning discipline. Though from the way she seemed to think that the students were all toddlers, it wouldn't be that bad. Professor Umbridge was wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head. The comment last night rose unbidden to the forefront of Merlin's mind, but he agreed with the sentiment: she really _did_ look like a toad.

"Well, good afternoon!" She said when finally the whole class had sat down.

A few people mumbled a "good afternoon" in reply, but most simply leaned back in their chairs, with one eyebrow raised (though in the case of poor Seamus, two).

"Tut, tut," said the Professor. " _That_ won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge". One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they chanted back at her.

"There, now," said Professor Umbridge sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

Merlin frowned down at the desk whilst the rest of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order 'wands away' was never usually followed by an interesting lesson. Unwillingly, everybody stowed their magical sticks, Merlin being the only one who hadn't even bothered to retrieve it from his bag and who already had the neccessary writing materials: he had had a sneaking suspicion something like this would happen when a Ministry worker of her calibre was involved.

Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the board sharply, with it; words appeared on the board at once;

 _Defence Against the Dark Arts_

 _A Return to Basic Principles_

By the Goddess.

She hadn't even started and Merlin was already bored.

"Well, now your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry –approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year."

Hermione frowned at this, along with Neville, but neither of them said anything.

"You'll be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

She rapped the black board again; the first message vanished and was replaced by 'Course Aims'.

 _Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic._

 _Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can be legally used._

 _Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use._

For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge's course aims she asked, "Has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhart?"

There was a murmur of dull asset throughout the class.

"I'll think we'll try that again", said Professor Umbridge. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, "Yes, Professor Umbridge", or "No, Professor Umbridge". So: has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhart?"

"Yes Professor Umbridge," rang through the room.

"Good," said Professor Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read "Chapter One, Basics for Beginners". There will be no need to talk."

The Professor left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing them all closely. Merlin did as asked and turned to page five and started to read. Promptly, he lost concentration. The text was one of the most dull writings he had ever read – and Merlin had been made to peruse official Court document and Gaius' multitudes of books. Dismissing the book entirely, he leant back in his chair, balancing only on its hind legs.

"This is most tedious," He said into the quiet.

Immediately, the attention of the whole class was upon him. Some, like Harry, Ron and Neville, recognised from the tone of voice that trouble and verbal sparring was brewing, whist others were simply relieved to have a reason to tear themselves away from the odious book.

"What?" He continued in surprise when he noticed Hermione shooting him a disapproving look from two seats down. "It is. You can't say much: you haven't even _attempted_ to read it."

Indeed she hadn't: the Witch hadn't even bothered to open the book and instead had been staring fixatedly at Umbridge since the reading began. Another annoyed glance was sent his way when Umbridge acknowledged him and not the girl.

"I'm sorry, Mister –"

"Ambrosia."

Merlin saw her upper lip curl into a sneer at his pronouncement of his last name, and knew it was because it wasn't a name that she recognised: in her eyes, he was neither a Pureblood nor a member of a "lesser" but still influential family. In addition, his slight accent didn't help – she seemed like the type of person who would turn their nose up at immigrants, whether they were well meaning or not.

"-Mister Ambrosia, that you found the chapter "tedious". No doubt you misunderstood it due to your... lack of education. Perhaps the third year text would be more suitable."

"Mayhaps it is. This is so dry I fear it will disintegrate if I touch it. A younger age aimed text would be far more robust."

Her eyebrows rose.

"It seems the class comedian has revealed themselves."

"And it seems that the illusionist has revealed themselves. Pray tell: where is the intent on using defensive spells in your illustrious classroom?"

There was a short silence, in which many members of the class turned frowning to look at the board. However, Merlin and Hermione (who indeed lived up to her reputation) stared fixatedly at Umbridge.

" _Using_ defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use one, Mister Ambrosia. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron exclaimed loudly.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr-?"

"Weasley," said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.

An Indian girl who Merlin recognised as being a roommate of Hermione raised her hand.

"Yes Miss?"

"Patel. Parvati Patel. Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practise defensive spells?"

"Are you a ministry trained educational expert?"

"No, but-"

"Well then, I'm afraid you're not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and clever then you have devised our new programme of sturdy. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk free way-"

"What use is that?" Harry said loudly. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be in a –"

" _Hand,_ Mr Potter" sand Professor Umbridge. She smiled more widely, turning her back on him. Harry immediately stuck his hand up. Hermione had yet to put her hand down, and so Umbridge turned to her, perhaps hoping that the female would be more manageable unlike her counterparts.

"Yes, Miss -?"

"Granger. Hermione Granger. Surely the DMLE and the Aurors, directly contradict this new policy as trained ministry professionals? After all, we require them to protect our country against those with Dark intent both from within our borders and out of our borders, as well as having to deal with muggles."

Neville picked up her trail of thought. "The number of new recruits will drop dramatically – the Auror force at the moment consists mainly of the Old Guard, and they're nearing retirement age."

Umbridge smiled thinly at them, then said in a sickeningly sweet tone of voice that made Merlin wasn't to throw up: "Whilst it is a pleasure to see everybody concerned with the Ministry's activities, you are all still children, and shall not need to consider career choices in the wider world for a while yet. Now, as I was saying –"

"Not need to consider career choices?" Hermione interrupted incredulously. "This is OWL year! Are you _insane!_ "

The girl's hair was practically crackling with electricity as she gazed in horror at the DADA Professor. Still swinging on his chair, Merlin watched in satisfaction at the chaos that had erupted. It was good to see the younger generation actually _thinking_ about the consequences of their actions, and how it could impact on them in later life.

" _Your hand is not up Miss Granger!"_ Trilled Professor Umbridge. "Now, it's the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about."

"Seamus Finnegan, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter curses and things?"

"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you shouldn't be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions." Professor Umbridge said dismissively.

"Without ever practising before hand?" said Parvati incredulously. "Are you telling us that the first time we'll do the spells is in the exam?"

"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough, then the spells will come to you easily enough. That is, if you have the magical strength to be able to."

Several students had their mouths open at the sheer stupidity that was occurring in front of them. Hermione's hair was now standing on end, whilst Harry was practically shaking. Ronald's face was turning purple and Neville was opening and losing his hands into fists extremely slowly.

"And your name is?" Professor Umbridge said, pointing to Merlin's roommate.

"Dean Thomas."

"Well, Mr Thomas?"

"It's like Harry said, isn't it? If we're going to be attacked _after_ school, it won't be risk free."

"I repeat," Said Professor Umbridge, smiling in an irritating fashion, "Do you expect to be attacked during lessons?"

"It's happened before, hasn't it?" Ron pointed out, wildly waving his hand around in the air. "We had that Nutter firing Unforgiveables left right and centre, and you lot at the Ministry didn't even notice – or if you did, you didn't even care!"

Professor Umbridge talked over him. "I don't wish to criticise the way things have been ran here," in an unconvincing smile, "But you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed-not to mention-," she gave a nasty little laugh," extremely dangerous half-breeds."

"What labratory did y _ou_ escape from?" Lavander whispered underneath her breath. Next to her, despite his affiliation towards the Ministry and its view on Harry and Dumbledore, Seamus huffed a laugh in response.

"If you mean Professor Lupin," piped up Dean angrily, "he was the best we ever-"

" _Hand_ , Mr Thomas! As I was saying- you've been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate for your age and potentially lethal. You've been frightened into believing that you're going to meet Dark attacked every other day-"

"We've met you haven't we?" Merlin said loudly, but over the cacophony of noise it seemed that Umbridge (perhaps thankfully) didn't hear him. Those close to him did however, and Harry choked on his anger due to his sudden impulse to laugh.

"No we haven't," Hermione said indignantly, refusing to let humour sway her," we just-"

" _Your hand is not up Miss Granger!"_

Hermione put up her hand and Professor Umbridge turned away.

"It's my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you."

"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" said Dean hotly. "Mind you, we still learned loads."

Merlin snorted at the black truth in the statement.

"And what good's theory in the real world?" said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again.

"This is school Mr Potter, not the real world," she said softly.

"So we're supposed to be prepared for what's waiting for us out there?"

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr Potter."

"I fear that we have at last, found the main point of contention." Merlin put his hand up as he spoke. "For what about Dark Creatures? Werewolves or Vampires or Grindylows or Dementors –"

"Dementors are under Ministry control."

"If _you_ think so. Do Grindylows tempt you off the path simply so they can have a cup of tea? No. Instead they want to kill you. Werewolves can be dangerous when they chose to be, whilst the loss of control can occur to even the best of Vampires. And the less said about the Dorochna the better! They feed off on pain, and misery, and eventually your soul."

"Now, let me make things quite plain. Whilst there are threats, that is what the Aurors, DMLE and the Dangerous Magical Beasts are trained to deal with."

"I know not what you believe, Professor, but for myself I wish not to disrespect the Minstry and waste money which could be given to better causes and I pride myself on the valour of our prized aurors. By calling them to one's abode in order to deal with my Boggart, which I cannot disconjure due to the negligence of your teachings, bestows upon the unfortunate respect of the lowest calibre. I do not wish to demean myself. Do you?"

Umbridge was practically vibrating in fury.

"I was informed that the _half breed_ ," she spat dangerously, causing Neville to have to wipe spit off his face with a grimace, "taught you the _ridiculous_ charm."

"But you're not going to teach the Third Years that, are you?" Neville pointed out. Although his voice was quiet, his tone was firm, strengthed by resolve and conviction.

Umbridge bristled, and drew herself up, as if the action would give her more presence. It didn't. It only made her look more like an amphibian.

"I resent you all questioning my teaching methods, which have been dictated on behalf of the Ministry. We have yaken all of these thoughts and ideals which you have presented to me into consideration and are now providing the optimum solution –"

There were groans of frustration at her words, and how they directly contradicted her actions. " – as to the average citizen, there is _no_ danger in the outside world-"

"Apart from what Myrddin said and Lord Voldemort, yeah, that's right."

Ron gasped; Lavender uttered a little scream; Neville slipped sideways off his stool. Professor Umbridge however, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry with a grim satisfaction which made Merlin have the feeling that this was what she intended.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter. Now, let me _again,_ make things quite clear to you children."

Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned towards the class, her stubby fingered hands splayed on her desk.

"You've been told that a certain Dark Wizard has returned from the dead-"

"He wasn't dead," said Harry angrily, "but yeah, he's returned!"

"Mr Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-house-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at Harry. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."

"It's NOT a lie!" said Harry. "I saw him, I fought him!"

"Harry _stop it!"_ Hermione hissed, tugging on the Boy-Who-Lived's sleeve.

"Detention, Mr Potter!" said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, _this is a lie_. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you aren't in danger from any Dark Wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn wizard, I would like to hear about it. I am your friend."

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" Harry asked, his voice shaking.

Cedric Diggory? Who was Cedric Diggory?

A collective intake of breath. A trace of satisfaction. And coldness.

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she said coldly.

"Is that what you told his dad? What you told Amos Diggory? Is that how you consoled him? That his son, the Heir of the House of Diggory, his precious, amazing, fair, _kind_ son died in an accident of his own making? You disrespect _him."_

"And you disrespect his memory by implying that there was anything more to it."

A sob escaped from Harry, and Merlin realised he was crying, with both rage and sadness, his whole body vibrating with trapped emotions.

"It was an accident. I didn't mean to take him there, with me, to the graveyard. I didn't mean for him to _die._ But it was also murder. The monster named Voldemort killed him and _you know it."_

Everybody stilled.

"Oh _Harry,"_ Hermione whispered sadly, her hair seemingly wilting.

Professor Umbridge's face had gone blank. For a moment, Merlin thought she was going to scream at Harry. Then she said, in her softest, most girlish voice, "Come here, Mr Potter."

Harry kicked the chair aside and strode to the front. Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink then began to write. Nobody spoke. After a minute or two, she rolled up the parchment and tapped it neatly with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he couldn't open it.

"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear." Professor Umbridge said, holding the note out to Harry.

The boy hesitated, and it seemed to Merlin that he was on the verge of saying something, but instead he snatched the note from her without a word and turned on his heel. The door slammed behind him.

"Now," Umbridge turned back to the class, capping her hands in girlish excitement, a sweet smile once more adorning her face. "The excitement is over for the lesson. Please turn to page 5. I expect you all to have finished reading the chapter by the end of the lesson. Remember: there is no need to talk."

* * *

Days passed. As always, the Hogwarts rumour took Merlin by surprise with just how _fast_ it worked. Peoples' focus was centred solely on Harry as they tried to dissect the Chosen One's words and attitude, pitting them against the opposing views of the Ministry. There were some positive affects though: an influx of people who came forward to proclaim their "allegiance" so to speak to Dumbledore's, and therefore Harry's, view of Voldemort's return. That meant that the atmosphere at Gryffindor Tower in general became heavy and more stilted as the non believers – Lavander Brown who resided in Hermione's dorm and Seamus in Merlin's own – were torn between the genuine mourning and complete and utter _conviction_ Harry had shown when talking about the death of Cedric, and the indoctrination they had been overwhelmed with over the summer holidays.

Wednesday came, and with it, Ancient Runes with Hermione. Merlin enjoyed the lesson immensely, and he could tell that it would quickly become one of his favourites. Even with the OWL speech at the beginning of the class -which the other subjects had all mimicked – reinforcing the seriousness of the year and the need to work hard, subsequently causing the panicked Hermione to frantically reach for her planner in an effort to begin organising study schedules - did little to deter Merlin's contentment.

He said so as much when they left the classroom at the end of the double period, his bag a comfortable weight on the Warlock's shoulder. Hermione frowned, catching a strand of her hair and coiling it around her index finger.

"You must have had a very thorough education before you came here then. Nobody else understood the theorems that Professor Babblington talked about today and there were Ravenclaws present! _"_

"You understood them though, did you not?"

Hermione huffed, a small embarressed yet proud smile painting her lips. "Yes, but that's only because I read ahead."

Merlin grinned, and poked her in the side. "And how far, exactly, did you read ahead, Miss Granger?"

She ducked her head slightly but raised her eyes and stared at him straight in the eyes, refusing to be cowered, though she was still embarrassed.

"The whole book," She muttered.

Merlin laughed "Swot," He teased. "And here I thought you were wonderfully smart like me. Instead, you _prepared._ Such a disappointment!"

Hermione shoved at him in mock anger, but a smirk rounded her features and a laugh bubbled out of her.

"Oh _really._ What are you then, fluent?"

Merlin shrugged unconcernedly. "Yep. My mother taught me how to read and right."

Hermione opened her mouth, a demanding glint in her eye, but before she could say anything, Merlin noticed that they had only got up one set of stairs, not two, and were now heading down the north west corridor, instead of south east corridor they would need in order to get back to Gryffindor Tower.

"You know this just proves my point. Miss Hermione Granger, you may preside under the psyendrom "bookworm" however that is all I think it mayhap be! The Tower is the _other_ way."

She ducked under his arm and instead continued to resolutely march down the corridor, leaving him standing there, alone.

"I think maybe _your_ intelligence is overrated, or did the brainbox forget that he was to go to the Hospital Wing to undergo tests performed by Madam Pomfrey?"

Merlin's shoulders deflated. "Ah. Wait, brainbox?"

Hermione laughed as he began to run down the corridor after him. Merlin overtook her easily, and was leaning smugly against the wall outside of the Hospital Wing, relishing the cold stone pressing against his back, by the time she caught up with him, severely out of breath with a disapproving, yet calculating expression adorning her face which was masked by a smile. Merlin raised an eyebrow: she had managed to make better time than he had thought. Perhaps he really _was_ getting old.

"So kind of you to wait for me, such a gentleman. Especially considiering you are the patient today, and not me."

Merlin simply stared at the door, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, paying her no heed.

"Myrddin?" Hermione prodded him gently.

Merlin tore his gaze away from the door and looked at her, slightly embarrassed.

"I rather detest medical examinations," He mumbled.

She smiled, and then shoved him through the door.

* * *

"So."

Merlin kept on walking, a slight furrow to his eyebrows as he desperately tried to shove away the humiliation the tests that Madame Pomfrey had put him through still fresh in his mind.

"So." He replied in a monotone.

There was silence, and then Hermione burst, the words spilling out of her in one vast, swirling torrent, propelled by guilt and relief and worst of all, _pity._

"I'm so _sorry –_ I've been really suspicious of you and if I'm honest, slightly jealous of your prowess in the classroom, especially Potions because Snape never treats and respect _me_ like that and it's so unfair about the way he treats us as if we're dirt beneath his fee but he doesn't with you but it's actually because he knew didn't he? He knew that you had dyslexia and _oh!_ That explains why you're so good at Runes as well as its pictorial – but – wait – what about Professor Binns this doesn't explain that and –"

"Hermione."

At last the Witch took a breath.

"Yes?"

"Shut up and let me speak."

Her mouth was open in shock, and normally Merlin would be ashamed at his rudeness and impudence he had just displayed, but he had just been humiliated – albeit unintentionally, but the principal remained the same – in front of one of his peers, who was now _pitying_ him and what was worse, was now objectifying his past achievements and grading them based on _special_ allowances that had and will be put into place for him. And the shock too – along with that niggling worry of doubt. That maybe he _was_ slower and thicker than everybody else, that his past achievements were flukes.

In short, Merlin was frustrated, and Hermione was to bear the brunt of it.

"First, how _dare_ you suggest, nay _state ,_ that so called "prowess" in Potions is not due to my own ability, but due to Snape having _lower_ standards when dealing with me than with everybody else due to my apparent "disability". You imply that my talent in Runes today was not due to my studying, and my work, but rather my fluency is due to the nature of the work. That I am proficient for words are not used but _pictures."_

Merlin was snarling now, and his eyes flashed a frightening azure blue in anger, his nostrils flaring.

"You act now as if _I_ was a _child_ among you, who think of thyselves as adults. You degrade me, Granger, and thus you degrade yourself. I am good in Potions for _I am good in Potions._ I am fluent in Ancient Runes for my mother was fluent in Runes. Nothing more, nothing less. Do _not_ take that away from me."

Hermione's eyes were wide, and filled with unshed tears. Her lips quivered slightly, but as he stormily watched her through angry eyes, Merlin noted as she regained swift control of herself.

"As to your accusations about me being _untrustworthy –"_

Here, Merlin's anger finally ran out, and he deflated slightly. Seeing this, Hermione quickly took her chance, and jumped in.

"Merlin's beard I just wasn't thinking, I'm so _sorry._ I – of course the achievements are all yours, I just got slightly carried away, and as to the suspiciousness, it's just that I – well, all of us really who knows what's about to come – have all become paranoid because of Voldemort's forces on the rise, and you were new, with a strange accent and you were just so _good –"_

Merlin held up a hand to stop the tirade, and immediately Hermione ceased, watching him tentatively.

"You were doing quite well you know, until you let your, -for want of a better word - jealously, "get to you" as it were, Hermione. It is entirely reasonable that you were suspicious for me. Alas, Professor Binns has a reasonable explanation. I did not return home after my tests which took place early August – there was no home to return to. I stayed here, and wandered about the halls of Hogwarts, exploring. I literally walked into him a few times. In addition, we both hold... _alternate_ vies on history. He's quite amusing to verbally spar with, if you can remove him from the topic of Goblin Rebellions, of course."

Hermione seemed rather taken aback, but such was his concoction of lies sweetened with truth that she swallowed it all obediently and without hesitation.

"Yes, well, that does make sense now," She mumbled. She stood, regarding Merlin regarding _her._ After a moment that seemed to stretch long into the distance (though Merlin had of course, experienced longer stretched moments), she held out her hand hopefully. "Friends?"

Merlin stared at her, long enough for her skin to itch in discomfort and worry to enter her eyes.

"Ha!" He exclaimed. "I had you there! 'Course we're friends!"

He took the hand and shook it., before leaning in to whisper, accompanying it with a conspirator's wink:

"That is of course, until you find out I have talent in Herbology."

Hermione's face, torn between amusement and jealously, contorted wildly, and the stupid expression caused Merlin to laugh loudly, before swinging his arm around her shoulders and continued their walk back to Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

 **There you are. Probably not what you were expecting, but hey ho. As I warned some people, Merlin will be attempting to keep a low profile this year (compared to the original story at any rate), which for reasons to be uncovered in the next chapter, will benefit him greatly.**

 **Now to my Guest reviewers:**

 **Crystal: Thank you! I must say that he won't appear in every chapter, but there ARE key scenes, three of which I can think of clearly atm : )**

 **TheNightFury: Stop apologising. If people aren't gracious enough to accept your thanks, then they don't deserve them to begin with ;) Yes, Merlin** _ **is**_ **rather confident here, and especially in the later scene with Hermione, he is almost... cruel? (which will be explained in time, I promise). But, I think you do need to take his years into account. That's not to say he won't make mistakes however, as he is still human!**

 **Amy: Ahaha yes I am a Hufflepuff, and I am a damn proud one at that! Yes, I thin kmy writing on a whole did a 180. It kinda went from basically being a complete rip off from the book to being almost crackish, with Draco being the main victim under that regime. And yes, Neville shal be loved a little more, but perhaps not in the way he deserves at first : (**

 **May: I hope this satisfies you!**

 **As always, thank you for your kind reviews, and the next chapter will be posted imminently. (Really, I've already written the first half, and am just editing the second so expect it by the weekend : )**


	6. An Admirable Duel

**Well what can I say? Family will always come first, and often, at the most inopportune times. Oh well. This was originally combined with what will now be the next chapter, but I was still fixating on the last section and so I've decided to post this now to at least tide you guys all over. I apologise for not answering your reviews and PMs of the last two chapters; please do not labour under the illusion that I do not care. I do, I really do.**

* * *

 _Prophesised Vice_

 _Chapter Five – An Admirable Duel_

 _ **Morgana's POV**_

 _The room was long and rectangular. Although the chamber was well lit, there were also equally as many shadowy areas, though they caused the woman no fear – she had already explored them and besides, what would scare a creature of nightmares? Everything had been moved to the edge of the chamber in order to create an adequate space in the middle. Whilst the targets disappeared magically into the ceiling and the mannequins wearing armour which had been programmed to respond to her commands had been returned to their crates, the mounted dummies had only been wheeled off to the side._

 _Morgana stood in the centre of the room, twirling a sword idly around in her hand – a deceptively easy trick on her own, but made much harder by it being held in her left, and the slight stiffness she felt from being dead for over a millennia and the... events that occurred subsequently. An idle thought crossed her mind, which caused a smile to caress her lips: this must be what growing old felt like._

 _No wonder Gaius had only hobbled around the place._

 _As her merriment grew, the sword in her other hand too, began to be twirled with devastating skill. With her head cocked to one side as she beheld the scene before her and the glorious mass of her hair constrained in a plait tumbling down her head and over her shoulder, she rather fancied herself appearing as a beautiful, avenging angel. Of course, her outfit helped: whilst it was not the beautiful dresses she had (only sometimes) been forced to adorn in the ancient times, the fairly loose fitting shirt consisted of high quality hand spun silk, and the trousers were likewise made out of fine cotton. They felt like a second skin to her (now most especially) delicate skin, and they did not hinder her movements at all._

 _Her prey stood opposite her, resplendent in a matching outfit, perhaps made grander by the clothes being more tight fitting, clearly tailored to his fine form. His hair too, was tied back by an emerald ribbon, but the locks were straight and white gold, so unlike Morgana's own. He stood ramrod straight, a rapier held loosely in his dominant hand, whilst the other was behind his back. Whilst he seemed relaxed and unruffled to the average onlooker, the persona was betrayed by the eyes which monitored the Witch carefully and his left hand, which, whilst she could not see, Morgana knew was clenched in a fist, the muscles tight as he fought the urge to grasp his wand in a reaction to seeing her smile as she successfully crossed her swords over in a showing of great skill._

 _These New Magic people: always so_ reliant _on their sticks. A fault to be sure, but not, perhaps, one of their own, personal, making._

 _Her smile faded._

 _The Triple Goddess always did like to meddle after all, to keep the_ balance.

" _Very well." She said aloud._

 _A single pale, perfectly manicured eyebrow rose and fell, the only tell that Lucius Malfoy allowed on his sculptured face._

" _I am feeling benevolent today. You may choose another weapon of your choice, whether I battle against rapiers twice or an equal partnership between rapier and magic, matters little to me."_

 _The Death Eater regarded her coolly, even as his left hand came out from behind his back and to the holster strapped to his leg, tapping it thrice before his wooden stick appeared._

" _How kind of you. I shall endeavour to provide an adequate duel for you, however, in the interest of sportsmanship; my spell use shall be limited."_

 _Head still tilted, Morgana assessed her opponent. A smile – a_ genuine _smile - flickered onto her face, so unlike the one which had adorned her visage mere moments before. For once, she sensed no derision or scepticism from her opponent – a refreshing change from the men she had always challenged herself with back home, who doubted her abilities due to being a woman. She inclined her head in a rare show of respect and watch in satisfaction as he did so likewise._

 _They stood like that for a moment, and then, in some unspoken signal, they attacked._

 _Morgana stepped forward, bringing her swords up to head height in the classic X block move, before moving to throw her arms out, causing the blades to whistle dangerously through the air as they sliced, the gleaming metals only precious millimetres away from Malfoy's throat and getting closer –_

 _CLANG._

 _His rapier came up to guard that precious column containing his life blood. Then he began to_ push _and his slight advantage due to his height gave him extra strength as he bore down on her. She let her muscles tremble at the exertion, and masked her mocking glee as she saw a flash of satisfaction gleam in his cool grey eyes at the thought that he was winning against her._

 _Pah!_

 _She showed him - painfully too – as she stepped forward and stomped on his foot. Whilst he had enough control not to gasp, his eyes widened incriminately at the unladylike and (probably) unsportsmanlike move she had just made. She stepped back, releasing her blades, twirling them once in consideration before moving forward to attack again._

 _But he was ready this time, and ducked the blades, moving forward to jab at her midriff, whilst silently shooting a spell off at the same time. A jet of ugly blue shoot out of his wand – which would have concerned an ordinary person due to its dangerous position at the back of her neck – but she only laughed as it bounced off her shield, shooting off at a mirrored trajectory to collide against the stone wall in a shower of multicoloured sparks. The rapier hit the shield seconds later, jolting Malfoy, who had made the mistake of tightly gripping the weapon in order to deliver a greater blow, causing his shoulder to lock up and almost drop the rapier._

 _Morgana smirked in satisfaction that her ward had worked – she had been creating it when twirling her swords in the short time before the duel, the showy moves designed to draw the eye away from her face and the only tell her magic gave: her eyes glowing gold. A fault she had yet to combat (and secretly she didn't mind if she was unable to: gold was her colour after all)._

 _They continued like that for a breathless two minutes, Lucius mostly using the rapier to defend himself, occasionally shooting off a spell and monitoring the results with a careful eye until he struck. Morgana had admittedly, began to get sloppy as the duel continued, playing with her food slightly, and thus it took her by surprise when once again he shot a spell at her, where it predictably bounced off, exploding as it hit some wooden crates to the side of her, before following it up with a swing of his rapier, which would easily have taken her head off if it wasn't for her ward, his knuckles white as he clenched the sword, and doesn't he know that's only going to cause him to break his hand and drop the weapon - ?_

 _Ignoring the cacophony of noise behind her, an annoyed thought crossed her mind. She had had such high hopes for the man too. Honestly, she would have thought he would have learnt by now that –_

 _But it seemed like Lucius Malfoy_ had _learned, as in a flash of movement, his rapier now lay in his left hand whilst his wand was in his right, pointing at the bridge of her nose. And surrounding her was the mannequins from the crates which he had craftily blasted mere seconds earlier by utilising the misdirection her wards gave to attacking spells._

" _Surrender, Milady. You are surrounded."_

 _She simply gazed at him with an arrogant lift to her chin. "An excellent ploy, Lucius, but I fear you've overplayed your hand._ _Ic cume eft me. Swá þæt ic mæg min fæhþ awrecan! Nu ic lybbe ece and ic mæg rædan min burh!"_

 _At once, the mannequins reacted, whirring to life complete with weapons and armour as they regarded Lucius and Morgana through their dull glowing red eyes. Then, they attacked._

 _Morgana laughed joyfully as she whirled, her swords merely silver streaks as she danced through the mannequins, her eyes glowing continuously gold as she danced amongst the carnage. And at the end, when she faced Lucius Malfoy with her chest heaving, her swords crosses around his neck, and the bodies of mutilated dummies strewed about on the floor, she threw back her head in ecstasy as she revelled in the fact that –_

She felt alive!

 _She let her arms fall back to her side and let go of her swords, except that they didn't fall to the floor, instead leaving them floating in the air as she stepped forward away from them. Her worthy opponent mimicked her actions. He flicked his wand and at once the rapier was gleaming, perfectly clean once more. He examined the work with no more than a cursory glance before stowing it back into the cane which was ever present._

" _You were an admirable opponent, Lucius. I thank thee for thy partaking in my invitation."_

 _Rolling her eyes when she beheld his raised eyebrow at the carnage around them, she waved her hand, and the mannequins immediately began to reassemble, the wood chipping flying back together and melding once more. Within seconds, the place was spotless._

" _I thank you for your challenge of a spar. It was a... unique experience. You have an interesting style"_

" _I assume you refer to the coexistence of magic and weaponry. It was imperative during Camelot, as it is imperative now."_

" _You imply that the challenges we face will be the same."_

 _She laughed. "Of course they are the same. Merlin was always one to meddle and the millennia we have spent apart would not have cured him of that disposition. It likely would have increased it."_

" _Ah." The word was drawn out. "And now we finally arrive at the heart of this invitation."_

" _So sceptical Lucius and yet so astute."_

" _I assume you want me to find him."_

 _The implicature that only Morgana believed that he was still alive was left unsaid. Yet as it lay between them it was so loud one was almost deafened by it._

" _No."_

" _No?"_

" _I want Delores Umbridge to find her."_

 _Lucius stilled._

" _If he is at Hogwarts, my son Draco has made no mention of him, nor of incredible power and skill that any one person wields." The man seemed to swell slightly with pride as he mentioned his Scion._

" _Do not punish your Heir; he is not the first to be fooled by Merlin's wicked ways, nor is he the last."_

 _Lucius stiffened at the apparent perceived slight to his family. Morgana waved it off._

" _Let me finish before you gallantly defend your family's honour. Do you honestly think that a man who is Immortal would not live thus? This is the man who lived like a servant, who kept to the shadows, who moved so stealthy that it seemed as if no one was there."_

 _Lucius blinked at the revelation that her nemesis had been a servant in her previous life, but did not pursue it, instead focusing on the matter of Hogwarts._

" _Are you sure?"_

" _Disregarding the fact that I have been watching him in the Afterlife, I_ know _Merlin in ways you cannot possibly understand. He has fingers in many, many pies. He will know of the Prophecy that binds your Dark Lord to the boy, and thus he will have reacted predictably. He will know of my presence once more on the Earth, and he will have reacted acted accordingly. He is at Hogwarts, most likely disguised as a student, where he is in the perfect place to protect the boy, but more importantly, the children."_

 _Understanding dawned in the Patriarch of the Malfoy Family's eyes. "Draco's view is only of his year and more limiting, to Slytherin. Whereas Umbridge has access to all of the children, through her position as a teacher of a subject which is compulsory up to OWL level and is popular in itself."_

" _Precisely. But not popular enough, I feel."_

 _Lucius watched her with cold grey eyes._

" _I see."_

 _Silence._

" _I permit your leave of me." Morgana dismissed him, waving her hand. She watched with detached amusement, as his back stiffened slightly, before he caught her hand and kissed it, his Pureblood manners kicking in._

" _Milady."_

" _Until next time, Lucius darling."_

* * *

 _His footsteps echoed in the stone chamber, but even as they became fainter Morgana did not let herself relax. Instead, she moved to sit on one of the high backed wooden chairs dotted around the edge of the room and sank gratefully into the silk cushion provided. A flash of gold and a cloth appeared in her hand. Reaching out to grasp one of the swords by the handle, she let the enchantment on it drop, causing her arm to sink when she bore the full weight of the weapon._

 _Although it was made of high quality metal and she had been informed that it had been forged by Goblins, it was by no means an exquisite weapon. Indeed, even the lower quality swords present in her days at Camelot had been forged better. Peasants these days had no concept of weaponry, she had discovered; take Lucius for example, trusting that magic would clean his rapier adequately enough. She inwardly scoffed; you could have all the magic in the world and still have a sword that would be susceptible to rust by the end of the cleansing. All sword masters knew that if you wanted to keep and work well with your weapon, than it would need to be tended to by hand. Why, even the great_ Merlin _knew, and didn't that say enough?_

 _Slowly, almost tenderly, she ran the rag up and down the sword, carefully removing the blood and the grease it had picked up from her spar and the exercises she had performed before that. Still, although she was engrossed in the activity, she was still aware of her surroundings, and thus did not react when Voldemort finally deigned to reveal himself from one of the many shadowy corners, much to his disappointment._

" _You did not ward the swords."_

 _Morgana raised one eyebrow in surprise at the chosen topic of conversation but did not stop cleaning her weapons lovingly._

" _There was no need. Or are you all so reliant on magic that physical injury impairs you so easily?"_

" _If one is as good a dueller as they claim, then no injuries should occur."_

" _Then," Morgana countered smoothly, "It is not a problem then, is it?"_

 _She rose from her seat, and stalked towards the weapons rack, where she delicately placed the swords back in their appropriate place, instantly missing their comforting presence once they settled into place. When she turned, he was standing in the middle of the duelling arena, regarding her with crimson eyes, so unlike the gaze Lucius had fixed her with just a short while ago._

" _You still stand by your belief that Merlin is alive." He observed._

 _She stared directly into his eyes. "It is not a belief, but a truth. I saw him, I_ watched _him. After thirteen hundred years, one does get bored of the Afterlife. We looked on as equals upon civilisations which were born, thrived, and died. I saw him walk among the mortals, anger burning in his eyes as he beheld destruction and war. We watched on as he saw the birth of great people, watched them live their lives, until they died like the ants that they are. I saw him try to save lives and I saw him destroying others. He is still alive today, let me assure you."_

" _You mention the Afterlife several times."_

 _Despite himself, Morgana knew that he was curious; like all men were. For wasn't the greatest question of life the end of it? Death?_

" _It does not become you to tread cautiously. Speak what you will."_

" _How could you regard this world when you were in another?"_

 _A sardonic smirk touched upon her blood painted lips._

" _There is no record of Merlin after I left this world because he was standing in shadows all this time as the world continued. He stays in the shadows because he can't stand the light, even though he is a part of it like you are a part of dark. He is the Master of Disguises, the Keeper of Secrets, one who is named Immortal in our language of old. And when you are Immortal, you can become terribly, terribly cruel."_

 _A pause._

" _That was my punishment, you see. To watch him. Oh, I was not in Avalon – I did not deserve that reward or recognition – but I was given their gift to taunt me, to parade what it was I had lost, in the place where I was. A place where believe me, any distraction is a gift gratefully received, even if it is of and from one you hated."_

* * *

Merlin sat bolt upright in his bed, chest heaving as he struggled to control his breathing. Even subconsciously, his habits about being unnoticeable were in full force, and subsequently his mouth was filled with blood from biting down on his lip to prevent him from screaming. Dreaming about everything from Morgana's perspective was uncomfortable to say the least; but even more so when it concerned _him._

For she had been watching him. He had almost forgotten the passing gift he had bequeathed unto her upon her death, an act of such savage passion that a bolt of shame passed through him upon the cruelness of the blessing. Immediately he pushed it aside: she _deserved_ it for all that she had done, both to himself and his own.

 _Especially_ his own.

Still, the feeling of illness would not desist.

Trying to achieve the trance in order to view his Waking Dreams was impossible for Merlin. Every time his eyes closed the images came, making him feel sick as he remembered the atrocities he had committed for his side, even if it was for the 'good' of the nation, the _world_.

It still made him feel like a monster.

He suspected that the feeling would never really go away.

Merlin tried to relax for a further two minutes before realising it was futile. It had gotten so bad that the memories were burnt onto his irises, obstructing his view of the natural world, the wooden posts replaced by charred stick, the crimson canopy morphing into a blazing inferno, the snores of his dorm mates becoming the grunts of the dying -

He couldn't stay here. He needed to get _out._

* * *

 **I wish everybody a very Happy Easter.**


	7. The Power of a Name

**Hello everyone. First off, I would like to apologise for the absence of any new chapters for over two months now, which went against my promise. Real life unfortunately happened, and my notes for this story were sent to a different country along with my mother after the finalising of a difficult divorce. However, I would like to add that this does** _ **not**_ **warrant the rude PMs and guest reviews which I have received regarding my absence. I stated at the beginning that University will always come first, and I had many assignments and subsequent exams to work on and consider. Real life is just as important.**

 **Secondly, to those applicable: I wish you the best of luck in your exams. You will, or have done brilliantly!**

* * *

Prophesised Vice

Chapter Five – The Power of a Name

" _Merlin... He is the Master of Disguises, the Keeper of Secrets, one who is named Immortal in our language of old. And when you are Immortal, you can become terribly, terribly cruel."_

 _A pause._

" _That was my punishment, you see. To watch him. Oh, I was not in Avalon – I did not deserve that reward or recognition – but I was given their gift to taunt me, to parade what it was I had lost, in the place where I was. A place where believe me, any distraction is a gift gratefully received, even if it is of and from one you hated."_

Merlin tried to relax for a further two minutes before realising it was futile. It had gotten so bad that the memories were burnt onto his irises, obstructing his view of the natural world, the wooden posts replaced by charred stick, the crimson canopy morphing into a blazing inferno, the snores of his dorm mates becoming the grunts of the dying -

He couldn't stay here. He needed to get _out._

* * *

Surprisingly, the Owlery wasn't empty, even though it was four in the morning with three to four hours left of darkness. Of course, it was devoid of human life, but there were a surprising amount of birds present. Perhaps now wasn't prime hunting time, and instead they were relishing the tranquillity that night brought them before the onslaught of youths that the morning would undoubtedly bring, due to it being Saturday. He stood in the shadow of the door, simply content to... watch, he supposed, revelling in the simplicity of their life. He had thought himself as unobtrusive, but that notion was quickly dispelled when a weight settled onto his shoulder, a sharp, but not hurtful, strips of pain caused by her talons blossoming as she gripped onto him.

"And here I was thinking I was invisible."

His hawk turned, regarding him through one golden eye with an indescribable emotion.

"I still haven't thought of a name for you." He told the bird, who reacted as though she was offended; by flapping her wings sharply, causing his eyes to close in reflex at the powerful gust of wind the action produced, the limb nearly smacking into his face.

"Flii," She called; a low, keening sound that belayed the tone of anger and sorrow she felt as she flew to perch on the highest rafter in the Owlery.

"I rather thought you would prefer to choose yourself."

She cocked her head in response, regarding him with suspicion as she flew closer. A beat passed, than three. And hesitantly, she hopped closer, settling on a rail two levels away from the Warlock. Merlin was silent as he watched her watching him, smiling slightly as he already felt lighter, and the burdens that Morgana had placed on him lifting in the face of her antics.

She chirped, the sound somehow coming across as impatient. Hurriedly, Merlin complied, reeling off a list of names. None of them were particularly exciting, and thus none of them received a huge amount of enthusiasm. If anything, she became more disinterested as time progressed and began to strut up and down the wooden banister, ruffling her feathers in the moonlight and sending shivering reflections of gold reverberating around the Owlery.

"Wuldor?" He asked eventually. "It means crown in one of my original languages – roughly anyway. Directly translated, it means glory ring."

Her reaction was interesting – she perked up her head at the name, but when he translated it for her she turned away, and began to peck angrily at the wooden post she was on, causing splinters to fly.

"That's over reacting a tad, is it not?"

She continued to do so, already moving further down the banister, grinding and pecking at the wood. Merlin began to grow alarmed when he saw a fleck of crimson blood appear – hawk's beaks were not designed for blunt force such as wood, rather for the crunching of bones.

"You need to stop – you're hurting yourself!" He cried, slipping into his native tongue as he advanced rapidly towards her. As what was quickly becoming an accustomed response, she ignored him, too entrenched within her frenzy to listen to her owner.

He reached her, and attempted to pull her away from the pole, but she had dug her talons in and was immoveable. As he persisted, she began to flap her wings directly in his face, the powerful gusts moving his head from side to side, and his face narrowly avoided impact. He gave up on her feet and instead, reached blindly forward for her beak, his plan to wretch her away via that.

"Argh!" A rather stupid plan, it predictably turned out, when she peaked him hard. "You _stupid flying-"_

Blinding pain.

His stomach reeling, Merlin wretched himself backward, hitting his dratted bird with one of his flailing limbs as he struggled to comprehend what was happening. The world seemed to be shrinking yet gaining a startling focus as it wavered, and his hearing sharpened so that he could hear the occupants of the Forbidden Forest now as well as the Castle and the consistent thrumming _oh_ _gods it was going to give him a migraine as the centaurs cantered through the forest –_

But then the colours kicked in, and Merlin threw up as there were _too many colours_ – colours he hadn't been able to previously conceive – could _never_ perceive –

But his supper from the night before lay trapped in his mouth, unable to exit quickly enough even though his mouth was open and an animalistic scream erupted from his chest as he opened his eyes - he didn't even know he had _closed_ them but now he was missing the delicious darkness - to find him high, ever so high.

He was over the grounds and now he was plummeting and _still_ his senses were going haywire and _gods when will it stop –_

And then the pain _did_ stop and he adjusted to his heightened senses, only to find that he was indeed falling seemingly out of the Owlery window (when had that happened?) but he couldn't access his magic –

Instinct kicked in, and Merlin's arms began to windmill as he cried out unintelligibly, heart beating loudly, even though he knew that it would be a fruitless attempt, and was silently resigned that this was going to be another fatality and that he could only hope that he would return to this world before somebody found him, which should be reasonable seeing as what moron would be up at one am outside - ?

But then the world came to a standstill. In surprise, Merlin stopped moving his arms, and he rapidly began to drop again, the earth gaining ground towards him, his small shadow growing from a speck to a squiggle, with another forming slightly to the right and upwards –

Wait.

His shadow wasn't _small._ And it shouldn't look like a squiggle. And if _he_ was the first squiggle then what the hell was the second -?

He looked up, to find himself momentarily stunned by one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen. His brain went into overdrive as he tried to identify the colours that danced across the sea, that swirled and spiralled into the abyss, that –

"OW!" Merlin squawked, as the illusion faded, to reveal the monstrosity that _was_ his pet (as there was _no way_ it would remain so when he came back to life) rear backwards, her claws dripping in the blood that flowed from the wound on his stomach it had just caused.

"Fly!" She squawked.

But Merlin ignored the creature, instead instinctively looking down to the wound on his stomach which he shouldn't be able to see through his clothes, but yet he could see the wound as instead of clothes there were –

"FLY!" She squawked again insistently.

And so Merlin flew. For there was not cloth on his body, but feathers. And he had not feet on his legs, but talons and claws, and as for his arms, _well,_ they were now _wings._

And so he flew. He moved his arms up and down, now realising that what he had mistaken for the beating of his heart to have been the beating of the air, and slowly, ever so slowly, the world regained its stillness and tranquillity that he had so desperately been searching for, before.

"Fly," She repeated, calmer this time, as she rotated ninety degrees, before diving gracefully towards a magnificent shimmering mass of blue and green and turquoise and black and grey and brown and emerald and sapphire –

The lake. She was heading for the Black Lake.

Instinctively, Merlin followed her, attempting to copy the way she had angled herself. Immediately, the buffering he hadn't realised he had been experiencing disappeared, and he shot forward, his body streamlined, and he was easily able to catch up with her.

"See."

"I – I resemble my human form."

"You not would?"

"I – you don't understand. I resemble my human form. _Truly_ resemble. This is – this is what I used to be."

His feathers were obsidian black, seemingly sucking in the light that the moon gave and swallowing it whole. Every time he took in a breath, his feathers rustled and shivered, sending shockwaves across his body, waves of the deepest black that was so dark it resembled the darkest hues of blue and green. Likewise, the feathers amusingly resembled his colour to the extent that they were so white with only the hint of cream that they were extremely close to what his usual skin tone was. The contrast was distinct, but they also helped to stand out his eyes. His eyes were so _blue_ , Merlin realised. Of course, there was no way they would look like that in real life, but still. It must be his sharp Falcon eyesight; his body obviously would have accommodated when he changed form.

But what had started to make Merlin laugh (and a bird laughing sounds an awful lot like they have something stuck in their throat) was one feature which had nothing and everything to do with what he looked like. For, around his neck, separating the stark opposing colours was a stubborn streak of red that thickened around the front and (when he twisted a bit so he could see) thinned around the back. His loving neckerchief had come with him when he became a bird.

"This is me."

Merlin was so busy being captivated by his own body that he hadn't registered that his flying companion had left his side until his reflection vanished, destroyed by the rivulets of water the bird had created when she had dived into the lake. He opened his mouth –or beak- to voice his protest as she shot back out of the lake, but it died in his throat when he saw that she had captured a fish. And he suddenly realised that he was _hungry_.

And it wasn't just the normal hunger either. Obviously, he had spent several hours in bed, but it was nowhere near breakfast. Indeed, even in the days of famine, he had never been this bad. But his Waking Dreams had been realistic, even more so then normal, as he actually took a form and lived out what was happening _now._ It had probably taken a toll on his body, but then he just _had_ to go and spend his remaining energy to change into a bird. The only reason he likely hadn't noticed it sooner was the fact that he had almost died.

Unconsciously he had flown closer towards his hunting partner –who had landed on the edge of the lake and was busy at something (perhaps preparing the fish). He tried to land beside her, but instead of executing a perfect landing, he created more of a furrow which would have been perfect for a farmer to have grown crops in. Groggily, he hopped his way over to where she had gathered two more fish. But as soon as he was up close, his stomach started to rebel while his body was already in action.

For he could hear the pattering of tiny feet and cocking his head, zoomed in on the culprit. A field mouse had just appeared from his burrow, where it had popped up to see what was occurring. He had flown back into the air and was poised to strike before he seemed to return to himself, and he stopped abruptly, the memory of when he had partaken in rat still haunting him.

A cry, and his attention was thankfully diverted to two fish which had been laid out on the shore. Giving in to his primitive he marked his new prey and struck, so overcome with the need to hunt that he instinctively landed, and tore at the meat ravenously. In a matter of seconds, the first fillet had disappeared, and shortly after, the second followed the first down his gullet.

Hopping back, he turned to regard his companion, who was watching him like a hawk.

"Why am I like this? What happened?"

"You."

"I am like this because of me? This isn't - I am not a bird."

"Yes. You."

"Me? You mean – you mean _me._ The true me. The embodiment of Magic. You claim I did this? But how? Magic like this would require the old tongue and blood –"

A flash of memory. Of being attacked, and of yelling about flying creatures. But he hadn't been speaking in English, had he? Every tongue held magic if you spoke the right words, but the old tongue held more power, _ancient_ power.

"It was me."

"Yes." Her tone, though flat, was not unkind, instead matter of fact.

"But how did I end up outside?"

She rolled her eyes, and such a human expression appearing on a bird, albeit a fellow one, was both amusing and startling to comprehend.

"Eye door."

"Ah. The window!" Merlin exclaimed.

She ruffled her feathers, signalling the end of the conversation, and began to clean her beak, rubbing it against the ground to clean off the remnants of the fish they had partaken in. The rhythmic action stirred his memory and now that one mystery had been laid to rest, another one rose from the murky depths to present itself.

"Why did you attack the banister? It was... there could be no excuse."

She stopped, and stared at him, almost angrily, if a bird could be described as angry.

"No. Name."

"You might not appreciate the names I thought of to bestow upon you, but none excuses the lack of manners you presented unto me."

"Name. Me."

"I think engaging in combat with wood shows no connection with the naming of oneself, unless you wish to have bestowed upon you 'splinter'."

She began to grow agitated, ruffling her feathers and puffing her chest out in order to appear larger.

"See."

"I am."

She _was_ beautiful. Merlin could distinguish that in human form, but in his avian shape, her beauty was increased thrice tenfold.

Her eyes, though they appeared gold at first glance, were actually a startling honey, which slowly melted into a deep burnt gold around the pupils. The slight crinkles around her eyes which in human form might be due to stress or happiness belayed the great intelligence she held and the sense of mischief she had already shown. The feathers around her eyes were a mixture of coffee and mahogany whicch as it cflowed down towards her belly, became streaked with light brown. Crowning her head was a curious mixure of extremly pale brown, ginger and pure white, which deepened to a glistening wave of fire that swept over her powerful shouldrs and down most of her back. The mesmorising wave of fire which was interwoven with flickers of orange, red and gold flowed right to the tip of her tail, only interrupted once by a few deep glorious black feathers which streaked down her left leg, marring the perfection.

"But – this doesn't explain the savagery of the post –"

"See."

"I _did_. I have. I am!"

"No. _See."_

And so he did. He gazed upon her, and he _saw,_ saw her for what she truly is, for what she truly was.

" _Golden Lady."_

She exhaled, her feathers flattening once more against her streamlined body in a movement that suggested relief.

" _Yes_."

* * *

 **I understand that this is fairly short, but considering my last exam was only yesterday and I have not forayed into the fiction world for a while, it was a semi decent attempt. I warn you all that I might be coming down with a serious case of tonsillitis which is making it hard for m to concentrate for long periods of time, so the next chapter might be slightly late.**

 _ **TheNightFury –**_ **My friend, so many questions and complements! First, thank you for bestowing them upon me, and I find your viewpoint quiet interesting. I agree with your assessment about Merlin – certainly in the later series of the show there were moments where he could be considered as almost cruel in his handling of events, which was delicious in its own sad way, so I thought I would try and reflect that here. As for how he can see Morgana and how he shall handle her – rest assured the first shall be answered soon, whilst the latter... well... that's a whole other story!**

 **Once again, I wish that for those who have exams the greatest of luck and for those that don't a good week : )**


	8. Manners Maketh the Man

**Haha "serious case of tonsillitis" my ass. God I underestimated myself – though the weather certainly hasn't helped. Sunstroke is also horrific. I apologise for everybody on how late this is.**

 **Prophesized Vice**

 **Chapter Seven – Manners Maketh the Man**

In a strange, but ironic way, the life threatening activities which Merlin underwent in the Owlery helped to ground the Warlock further with the reality of now, and what he was undertaking. The thrill of the brush with everlasting sleep, the tantalizing glimpse that his old friend Death gave him of calm and peacefulness and the ability to _rest_ finally after all these years was addicting, as it always was. Seeing Harry, sleeping like a child as he curled up underneath the duvet, as he returned to Gryffindor Tower, was enough to curb the addiction. The boy didn't deserve him to take the selfish - and if he was honest with himself, the cowardly way - out, leaving him to deal with Morgana, Voldemort and the rest of his cohort.

Instead of returning to his slumber in his comfy four poster bed, Merlin decided to take one of the alcove seats in the Common Room, relishing the opportunity to press his throbbing head against the cool glass. This day was shaping up to be not as clear and sunny as the dawn he had witnessed - been a _part_ of in the sky - had suggested, and instead long clouds with a hint of grey had gathered, hinting at possible rain.

And rain meant coolness, and what Merlin wished above all right now was to be cool. He would quite happily bathe in a pool of ice if it meant that his head would _stop hurting_.

It was from the change, he knew. If everybody knew that having a bird's eyesight would be painful, then maybe the phrase suggesting otherwise would not be as popular. For whilst humans were only restricted to visible colours in the light spectrum, birds were not. What Merlin had seen – it hurt to even _think_ about, let alone compute. Differences in shades of colour to human might be hard to distinguish – such as camouflage – but for avian beings comparing two subtle shades of green as being similar was stating black and white were the same colour. And it wasn't just the colours in the visible light spectrum either – in the process of his transformation, his body had grown extra cones in his retinas to allow him to see ultraviolet, and witness colours which humans would _never_ be able to understand, let alone describe.

So whilst Merlin felt blessed by the Triple Goddess for being able to observe what most could only dream of, there was a small part that wondered if it was worth the experience.

Luckily however, the pain had subsided by the time the hours of breaking fast had arrived, and with it, the appearance of the occupants of Gryffindor Tower, who slowly filtered out through the cubby hole, most yawning consistently throughout. Dean and Seamus were the first of his year to descend from the dorms, and when the former offered him a friendly smile, Merlin decided to join them for breakfast. There were other days, after all, to eat with the Chosen One.

"So anyways, I come down to the kitchen and there's smoke spewing _everywhere –"_

Dean was laughing. "Not _again-"_

But the Irish lad was waving his arms about in denial, almost upending Merlin's bowl of cereal over him. "I didn't _mean_ to, it's just I put the grub in the microwave and somehow it caught on fire."

"What's Seamus set fire to this time?" Neville asked from behind Merlin, who had already cleared the place next to him and gestured for the shy boy to sit. He did so, but not before seeming apparently stunned at the action, and stammering a thank you.

"It was an accident! I was looking forward to me tatties."

"Pray tell the reasoning for _this time?"_ Merlin asked in concern.

Dean looked up from buttering his toast, and grinned at the Warlock from across the table.

"Sea here has a tendency to set fire to anything he touches." He continued loudly over Seamus' indignant squawk of "I do _not!"_ ignoring his best friend completely. "Best put anti-flammatory charms on all of your possessions. He won't mean too of course, but it'll happen. Eventually."

Neville nodded a wistful gaze to his eyes. "The one time I wanted him to burn something – the dress robes for the Yule Ball last year – and he refused. Yet apparently it is okay for my cloak and my pillow to go up in smoke."

"Really?"

Seamus exploded, his Irish accent becoming more pronounced as he protested his innocence as Dean and Neville regaled Merlin with tales of their friend's pyrotechnic exploits, before the Irish lad relented and joined in with more tales that the other two hadn't heard.

Merlin laughed the whole time.

* * *

That morning, double Charms were succeeded by double Transfiguration. Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall both spent the first fifteen minutes of their lessons lecturing the class on the importance of OWLs which Merlin religiously ignored. Ron and Harry however, took it to heart, as in the lunch break they panicked about the amount of work they had already received and decided to head to the library to work.

Whilst Merlin thought nothing of this decision Hermione was over the moon about it.

"Honestly it's a miracle that they've made the decision for themselves. Those two think more about Quidditch and chess than they do about their studies – it's about time that they've realised that grades matter!"

Ron scowled at this, but his rebuttal was light hearted enough. "Quidditch matters too, 'mione! Just because you find it more interesting to do "light reading" from some bloody great big book doesn't mean everybody else does."

Hermione blushed at this. Merlin was confused. Who didn't like reading books?

The day had warmed by the time their first lesson of Care of Magical Creatures arrived, yet as they walked down the sloping lawn to a wooden cabin on the edge of the forbidden forest – although that had never stopped Merlin- they felt the occasional drop of rain on their faces. A witch was waiting for them in a padlock some distance away, where Merlin could see the rest of the class waiting.

A shout of laughter sounded behind them and turning around, Merlin could see Draco Malfoy and a crew of Slytherins striding towards them across the grass. The similarity that the boy had to his King again struck him, the realisation painfully deep, and he had to look away again to breathe before turning his attention to the lesson.

"Gather round," barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, once all the Slytherins and Gryffindors had arrived. "Let's crack on then. These," she swept her hand back, gesturing to the Paddock behind her. "Are obviously Unicorns. Now, I know that you covered this subject last year as I took it, but we are recapping this as it is most likely going to end up in your OWLs. So, which sex is better to suited to the older Unicorns?"

Immediately, Hermione's hand shot up in the air, with several other girls' hands included, albeit the Slytherins who simply looked bored.

"Miss Brown?"

"Unicorns prefer woman so a male is generally not safe when alone but the younger ones do not mind their touch."

"Correct. Ten points to Gryffindor."

Merlin zoned out. He had had many dealings with the Unicorns before over the years – along with the Dragons, they were one of the last _true_ creatures of the Old Religion, and only remained so due to their Keeper. In what would surprise many, the Keeper of the Unicorns was a male named Anhora, but Merlin had always privately thought that the Old Religion had purposefully chosen the man specifically for his gender, for the official reason of keeping the balance to cover the real purpose of causing controversy.

"... Now group into teams of five, with one girl being a mandatory presence. Remember Gentlemen," Professor Grubbly-Plank added, attempting to catch all male eyes but only succeeding with the Gryffindors, prompting the disparaging remark "if I could even call you that" directed at the Slytherins who were clearly not listening, "Please do _not_ approach the elders within the herd at all costs, as I do not want to whizz you to the hospital wing after being gored."

Immediately, Harry, Ron and Hermione clustered together, and gestured Merlin and Neville to join them, the former showing no hesitance to do so, which Merlin knew was due to his excitement at meeting the Unicorns again. He had told the Warlock during Charms rather excitedly, explaining how even their mere presence helped certain plants, such as the Wiggentree, prosper from the Magic and general aura they excluded.

The padlock in front of them was divided into cells, where each cell was occupied by either a fully grown Unicorn or a foal. Due to there being ten cells in comparison to six foals, the cell that each person would enter was determined by their sex. As the trio had hung back after the task had started to ask about the whereabouts of Hagrid, a man who Neville had explained to be their usual teacher, the only cell left was one at the very end, next to the entrance to the open padlock which extended out and beyond the cells where the remainder of the herd grazed peacefully.

"Proceed with caution." Professor Grubbly Plank reminded the students commandingly, her face stern and her posture tense. She melted however, when a Unicorn approached her and nuzzled her hand, in a clear show of wanting to be stroked, and her grizzled face relaxed into a smile.

Harry went first, making sure he did everything that had been instructed in order to avoid being gored. Tension could be seen in every part of his body as he gingerly climbed over the style and stood in front of the foal. It made Merlin laugh a little, causing Hermione to admonish him.

"Unicorns mayhap are one of the most pure beings ever to walk this Earth, Harry. Only Phoenixes rival them. One shalt not gore thee – for violence in their nature it is not. Relax. She can probably sense that you're uneasy."

Harry deliberately exhaled, and a smile lit up his face when the foal cautiously made his way over, before extending his neck for him to pat. Ron went next, and although he had preceded the event by complaining, he ended up in the cell for fifteen minutes, enjoying patting the filly and Merlin was pretty sure he saw his lips move, though the red head later denied talking to the foal in an attempt to appear masculine, a move which the Warlock didn't understand.

Merlin was at the back, so he watched as everyone else proceeded forward to make contact with the Unicorns. Hermione (as she was a girl) was the only one who was allowed to meet the Adult and the Baby, so she took twice as long. The Warlock thought that it would be an enjoyable lesson, if it wasn't for the group of Slytherins who were next to them. Malfoy and his group of minions were continuously offering snide comments and remarks on the status of Harry's health, why Gryffindors were losers and a lot of other subjects which were deliberately chosen to offend.

Neville was the penultimate member of their group to enter the padlock, and he did so with joy, walking forward with a confidence that even in their short acquaintance, Merlin knew was rare. He had remained unresponsive to the Slytherins jeers up to and including that point and it seemed that the Slytherins had had enough of being ignored. Just as he put his foot in the style, they struck, and a beam of pink light hit Neville from behind, one which Merlin recognised with dawning horror as a tripping jinx.

"Neville!" Ron cried out, but his warning was too late.

Neville was launched forward, and his head hit the wooden fence which separated the cell from the larger padlock. Blood quickly began to gush from the head wound the fall had created. He slumped to the side, rolling off the fence and pitched forward, but his foot was still caught between the planks of the style and it was with a sickening SNAP that it broke. There was no sound, no crying, and no reaction from the Gryffindor as he thudded to the floor, and it was a shuddering realisation for Merlin to know that the boy was unconscious.

"Professor Grubbly-Plank!" Hermione yelled, starting forward. "Neville is injured!"

But the Professor didn't hear her due to the Slytherins laughing loudly as the events played out, adding jeers into the mix when he remained unresponsive. The Unicorns in the padlock, already spooked from the clamour they created, banded together as one and moved towards the far end of the padlock, the closest they could get to their home in the Forbidden Forest when Neville fell into their cordoned off area. However, a few of the mares wheeled around and headed towards the cells, and Merlin realised rather belatedly that they must be the mothers of the foals who were penned. The young in question had become skittish, and then they saw their herd head away from them, panicked, causing many students to promptly abandon the padlock. Padma had to be helped over the side by the Professor after her foal had tossed his head nervously and almost skewered her arm. But due to the herd mentality, the others began to follow the mothers instinctively, and suddenly the class had the entire herd bearing down on them.

Straight towards Neville.

As Hermione realised what was coming, she started to yell for the Professor again, with other voices joining once they too, saw the situation. The Care of Magical Creatures Professor was already turning around at the cacophony of noise which had suddenly erupted and her eyes widened as she comprehended the scene and she rushed forward, leaving Lavender and Dean to comfort Padma who remained shaken.

"Boy! Get out of there now! What are you doing there anyway?" She yelled, panic distinct in her voice.

"He's unconscious!" Ron shouted.

Hermione, who had started forward, had frozen in the face of the oncoming Unicorns cantering at full pelt towards them. By now the rest of the class were paying attention, and the group of Slytherins had stopped laughing when the brighter ones realised that Neville could be killed.

"Back!" Grubbly-Plank yelled. "Everybody, get _back!"_

Only a few seconds had passed, but Merlin saw with sudden clarity that there was nothing that any of the others could do; most seemed to be frozen in horror, and had to be dragged up the bank to safety by their fellow classmates. Ron had started forward and grabbed Hermione, managing to restrain Harry at the same time. He, at least, had realised that no mortal would be able to stop the Unicorns from rampaging.

But Merlin was no mortal.

The Warlock sprung into action and ran towards the fence, dodging the trio's outstretched hands with ease. Professor Grubbly-Plank cast a summoning charm at him, but he ducked and it sailed over his head, instead summoning clouds of dirt into the air.

"Boy, come back here at once! You are going to get yourself killed."

The girls gasped as he vaulted over the padlock fence using one hands, but then they began to splutter as they inhaled the dirt that had accidently been summoned. Fumbling, Merlin swore to himself as he attempted to free Neville's mess of a foot from the wooden fence, continuously looking over his shoulder all the while at the thundering herd heading straight towards him. Giving up with being careful, he wretched the foot free, figuring that the boy wouldn't feel the pain anyway due to his state of consciousness, but then Neville groaned, and his eyelids fluttered weakly.

"Neville, you need to get up and move _now."_

But Neville was at the threshold of the realms of awareness and could only moan incoherently and the herd was still coming straight towards them and they were _not going to stop_ and run over Neville and straight through the fence, splinters flying in their desperation to reach their young, likely crushing the remained of the class into the ground, mowing them down like they were _nothing_ –

So Merlin did something fundamentally stupid.

He stood up, and sprinted towards the herd.

Stopping around two meters away, he faced them and crouched, pounding his left fist into the ground in a powerful motion. His eyes gleaming gold, he yelled;

"Thou shalt not pass!"

He straightened up, and threw his arms out, the burning gold remaining. But the herd remained unresponsive towards him and continued their canter.

"By the order of Emrys, I order you to _cease,"_ He hissed.

The Unicorns reared up before their hoofs crashed to the ground, narrowly missing Merlin. Others dodged their comrades and continued to canter straight towards him, before splitting on either side of him, quickly cutting him off from all angles and trapping him in a circle.

The class grew silent now, with all of them whispering about how a boy was surrounded by adult Unicorns; that he was going to die.

Merlin ignored all of this, as what seemed to be the leader of the herd stepped forward, and with a shock, he recognised who it was.

"You're the one that Arthur saved." The Immortal whispered in amazement, and when she nickered in reply, he knew it was true.

Merlin reached out to touch her, just like he had done all of those ages ago and walking forward, she let him. Then suddenly, she stepped back and with the rest of the group advanced. It was in silence Bourne from fear and astonishment that the class and Merlin watched as slowly and majestically, the front ring of the Unicorns bent their forelegs and dipped their heads. Then the second ring, and the third, in a wave of motion of what was clearly an inescapable action of bowing.

Merlin bowed in return, not the measly head nodding action that he had offered Snape, but one which he gave to any one of status, whether of blood, of purity, or of heart. He bent low from the waist, and gazed at the hooves of the herd.

"I thank thee for your respect. I apologise for the impolite order – it was borne out of fear for one of my own. I offer my apologises and my gratitude for graciously heeding my words."

They nickered, and the Unicorns straightened up. Merlin remained bowing, and only rose when they nudged him, clearly signalling for him to resume his upright position. As one body, the herd retreated, save only the Unicorn that Arthur saved once more at the front of the herd, leading them.

"I think it would be best for all if your young were returned to you. Like you, they were needlessly stressed, and they will appreciate the comfort of the herd."

She whinnied in response, and he took it as an affirmation. He nodded, and moved to turn away and stride back to the cells were Neville and the foals waited, but he was prevented by the Unicorns gently catching his sleeve in her teeth and pulling him towards her. He swivelled, to witness her study Neville curiously.

"A cruel jest which rusted in extensive injury," Merlin informed her. "He is the reason I issued the command – he is incapacitated by his foot and inert from the wound on his head and he would not have been able to retreat from your herd. He needs urgent medical attention, which is why I am so impolite to leave you so soon after our reacquaintance."

She remained silent and then tossed her head decisively and trotted forward past Merlin and towards the cells, where the young awaited her impatiently, standing at the end of the cells closest to the padlock and straining to reach her. She whinnied loudly, and they lowered their heads, suitably chastened.

The Herd Leader stopped near Neville, and whickered impatiently, calling Merlin over to her. He did as she commanded, standing next to her. She whickered again, this time a low keening sound, and her nostrils flared wildly as she looked upon the Gryffindor boy, who to Merlin's surprise, gazed back, appearing entirely lucid judging by the lines of pain which lined his face and body.

"Ma'am," He said quietly, inclining his head in a show of respect.

She tilted her head, and then moved forward, lowering her head so that she stood directly over the fallen boy, who made no action to move away. Instead, a small smile adorned his lips, and his eyes crinkled in welcome.

The remaining girl in Hermione's dormitory who Merlin had yet had the pleasure to meet cried out hysterically; "She's going to gore him! Stop her!"

"No," Merlin called imperatively, "She will not. Do not disrespect her in such a way."

Neville ignored the commotion, and gazed into the Herd Leader's eyes.

"I am not your responsibility, ma'am," he said gently. "Nor do I hold you accountable for what might have been, for it has not come to pass. There is no need for what you are offering – Madame Pomfrey, our School Nurse, is more than adequate to deal with me." His lips quirked upwards in a wry grin. "She sees me often, sure enough, to know what injuries befalls me – pardon the pun."

Merlin smiled at the selflessness and awareness that Neville had displayed. The boy surprised him more with every encounter. The tenderness in which he had greeted the Unicorn – _respectfully_ no less – was rare in mortals these days. Thus, it was no wonder that the Herd Leader gently dipped her head and lightly grazed Neville with her horn directly above his heat. A golden shimmer appeared around Neville ad he started to glow, sparks whizzing between the two.

It was good to see the Old Religion once more in practice, Merlin reflected, as he beheld the healing process that was taking place.

When she finally stepped back, the magical aura diminished around Neville and he sat up blinking, moving with ease into a kneeling position. He did not stand however, and instead, inclined his head low – lower than Merlin, in fact.

"Thank you for the honour you have bestowed upon me," He said respectfully. "I shall never forget the gift which you freely gaze to me, and I shall cherish it forever."

She nickered, and extended her head towards him. His hand shaking, perhaps from nerves, he moved forward and hesitantly, laid it gently on her neck and rubbed her softly, his face lighting up with pleasure, all traces of the pain he had once felt gone.

Inclining his head as she walked past, Merlin waited until she had moved back into the herd (which had moved forward whilst the healing had taken place), blending into their ranks. Then he moved swiftly to Neville's side, offering a hand which the boy ignored, becoming fully upright a moment later. Immediately, the Gryffindor headed to the nearest cell, and opened the gate, causing a foal to canter joyfully to the herd a second later.

Grinning, Merlin joined Neville in his actions which once again displayed his kindness and selflessness for the world to see as they freed the foals, feeling a sense of peace which could only be achieved by one a being of pure magic had blessed.

Once all the cells had been opened, they both turned back round, and uttered a simple "thank you."

A blink, and a flash of gold later, and the gate at the other end of the padlock opened as if by magic. Once again, the Unicorns whinnied, with some rearing majestically, before as one they turned and headed across the padlock and into the Forbidden Forest beyond, returning to their home. Idly, Merlin wondered if there were more Unicorn lessons which had been scheduled today. He hoped not.

Silence.

Merlin and Neville turned around, and walked slowly back to the exit of the padlock, where their enthusiastically cheering classmates awaited.

* * *

"You did it!" Lavender said triumphantly as the Gryffindors all pushed towards Merlin and Neville. "We were so worried, thinking that Neville –"

"Wasn't going to make it." Ron joined in as Harry, Ron, Seamus and Dean pushed to the front of the crowd. "I'm glad you're okay mate."

Neville blushed, and Merlin was sad to see that the confidence which he had displayed for the lesson was starting to vanish under the scrutiny of his classmates. "The Unicorns wouldn't have hurt me," He said simply. "It's not in their nature."

Ron frowned. "It's in the Slytherins though. Bloody hell – they almost killed you!"

There was silence at his exclaimed comment, but nobody piped up to disagree. It was then that Professor Grubbly-Plank decided to speak for the first time during the whole incident.

"Explain yourself Weasley."

"One of those bloody bastards," He elaborated darkly, glaring at the Slytherins in question who stared stonily back, showing no emotion on the faces, "Shot a tripping jinx at Neville just as he was climbing the style to go into the cell. He smashed his head on the fence, became unconscious and fell into the padlock where he broke his foot. And those _bastards_ laughed!"

Ordinarily, Merlin was sure that the Professor would have called Ron out on his language. Instead however, she had gone white, and turned to stare at the students clad in emerald and silver.

"Is this true?" She asked aghast.

The Slytherins did not react.

Grubbly-Plank pressed her lips together firmly in a show of anger at the disrespectful display. "You could have _killed_ one of your classmates! Never, in all of my years at teaching at Hogwarts, have I ever seen such callous, dangerous and frankly horrifying behaviour. Do you have _anything_ to say for yourselves?"

Silence.

She breathed heavily. "The only thing I can commend you, it seems, is your ability to remain loyal to one of your own. Subsequently, you shall _all_ be punished. Severely."

A girl with rave hair and a pug face shouted angrily: "Weasel and his friends are telling lies. We never attacked _anyone._ Everybody knows that Slongbottom has appalling co-ordination. He slipped on the style and did that to himself. _"_

Grubbly-Plank raised an eyebrow at this.

"Considering that I charmed and warded all of the styles to prevent such occurrences from happening naturally, I can only come to the conclusion that magic was involved. And since I find it highly doubtful that one of Mister Longbottom's friends would have done something so stupid, I shall take twenty points from Slytherin for blatantly lying to a teacher, Miss Parkinson, in a misguided attempt to protect your friends. However, the use of a pensieve is prohibited for those who are not of age, and thus I cannot see for myself what exactly occurred here. Yet, as I did indeed see you and your fellow Slytherins laughing and jeering, which impeded my hearing causing me not to realise that a student was in danger, _all_ of you will spend every night in detention for the next two weeks with me, where you will comb the lake for Fire Crabs who have moved in and are destroying the water life. You will then be required to feed, care and clean out their cages whilst we inhabit them in a more secure zone."

There was an air of resentment towards the Professor and disgust at having been given detention for a fortnight, but none of the Slytherins dared speak out against it. The Gryffindors smiled grimly in satisfaction: Fire Crabs were notoriously hard work to care for. But Professor Grubbly-Plank was not seemingly finished yet, and continued;

"I will also be speaking to your Head of House, Professor Snape where I will expect him to also deal out punishment as he sees fit. Mark my words, if it is not the standard that I would agree with, I will make it _severely_ worse."

There was annoyed muttering at this, with several looking disgusted at what they would have to do. But before the Gryffindors could celebrate, the Professor turned upon them.

"As for _you,_ Mister Ambrosia, fifty points from Gryffindor for putting yourself in danger. I do not doubt that your schooling before you came to Hogwarts was different, but that is no excuse for such dangerous behaviour. What on earth were you _thinking_! You had _no_ way of knowing that the Unicorns would have stopped before they reached you."

Merlin held his head high and jutted his chin out in response. "I was not going to let one of my classmates be in a life threatening situation if I could help, Professor. I knew what I was doing and all of the consequences that would come with it, and I freely accept them. I judged that I was the only one who would have the ability to help Neville, as you were too far away, and I was the only one to have worked with Unicorns before."

"Be that as it may, if you perished or were severely injured due to a misguided attempt to help Neville, how do you think _he_ would have felt being responsible for what potentially could have been life changing injuries?"

"I would not have happened," Merlin said with certainty, "Though of course, I am responsible for my own actions, and thus it would be idiotic for Neville to feel guilt. In addition, you said so yourself: Unicorns are beings of light, they are not malicious. If I had been trampled, it is likely that what occurred with Neville would also have occurred with me, and due to being injured by their own hoof, so to speak, they would have felt accountable for it and healed me."

"So you gambled your life on the apparent knowledge that if a Unicorn harms another creature, they will heal the damage. There are many witches and wizards who would disagree with that notion, Mister Ambrosia."

"That is because, Professor Grubbly-Plank," Neville injected timidly, "They would likely to have not shown the Unicorns the respect they deserve. Manners maketh the man. Unicorns acknowledge this."

Merlin nodded. "Surely you agree Professor – Unicorns are not animals, far from it. They are creatures of old, and as such, adhere to rules and requirements which are foreign in this day and age. They are fully sentient beings and act as such. This is what you teach, is it not?"

She regarded him beadily, her lips pursed. Faintly, a bell rang, and in the distance on the top of the hill, student could be seen moving in and out of the greenhouses.

"I see," She said. "You are lucky it is the end of the lesson, Mister Ambrosia."

Even as she spoke, the class began to retrieve their fallen belongings which they had thrown to the wayside in their haste to disappear from the rampaging Unicorns path.

"That shall be all, today class. For homework, I wish for you all to write two pages on the topic of Unicorns, and why what you witnessed here today is a phenomenon which we were blessed to have witnessed. Slytherins, I wish for you all to report to me at seven tonight. Those that do not arrive punctually, or indeed, not at all, shall face severe consequences."

Everybody nodded, and they began to leave. The Gryffindors in the front hung back, waiting for Merlin, what had happened during the lesson still on their lips. Inwardly, the Warlock sighed: far from being inconspicuous, it was likely he was going to become infamous for what had occurred here today.

"And Mister Ambrosia," She called, regarding him again with her lips pursed. "You are attuned more than most to the thoughts and actions of creatures. This is a skill which is becoming increasingly rare to this day and age I commend you. Twenty points for your empathy to those one might consider being worthless of your time and sixty points for being prepared to give your life to save not only your fellow student, but also the majority of your class. We were exceedingly lucky to have you with us today."

"No, Professor. We were exceedingly lucky that the Unicorns listened."

Neville had been right, Merlin mused.

 _Manners maketh the man indeed._

* * *

 **There you are. Eleven pages worth to get our teeth into. I had considered putting this later in the story, but in the end I chose for it to remain close to the beginning anyway.**

 **TheNightFury: No, my tirade was not directed of you, so do not worry. The guest reviews which were exceedingly rude to me I deleted. As for the pain of the transformation, I admit I might not have been clear in the previous chapter (I'll clean that up now) but I tried to elaborate here. Birds have exceedingly good eyesight, with the ability to see** _ **more –**_ **quite literally. They have access to a whole new part of the light spectrum which lets them see no colours. For a human, it would be literally impossible to process, and thus why Merlin was in so much pain : )**

 **I wish you all a good week. Drink plenty of water and slather yourself with suncream. I failed in both cases, and thus resulted in this late chapter. Stay safe everybody!**


	9. A Villain Set Free

**Hello there! I must say, it is good to be able to post this. First, I wish to thank everybody for their kind words during my accidental absence. I myself suffered a deleting scare (thank god I accidently copy and pasted this on a Merlin's Guide chapter so I had a backup) so I'm thinking I might take my laptop to a technie to fix it up. But at least I got this chapter out! Honestly, I suffered from writing's block for so** _ **long**_ **on how to do this chapter – I have five different versions – and only writing chapter** _ **fourty –**_ **yes I have planned that far in advance – could I go back and complete this. Funny how things work isn't it?**

 _In the Hands of a Prophesised Vice_

Chapter Eight _–_ A Villain Set Free

Although the teenagers had not known Merlin for that long – barely a week had passed since Hogwarts had began the year – perhaps they had gleaned enough from him to know not to press on what had occurred with the Unicorns, which Merlin was thankful for. Oh, he was sure that the questions that were on the tips of their tongues would soon spill out, and once unleashed could not be avoided, but they were considerate enough to only do so in relative privacy, showing a restraint which surprised the Warlock. After all, all things considering, Gryffindors were and never will be renowned for their impulse control.

And yet, he never was pressed for answers. Perhaps that was due to what had occurred the following day. At breakfast, no less.

Herbology immediately succeeded Care of Magical Creatures, and after that, Astronomy. Thus, it was a very sleepy group of teenagers who made their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning. Seamus and Dean, along with Harry had opted to skip breakfast to remain in their bed for another precious thirty minutes of sleep before Charms that morning. Idly, Merlin wondered how Harry's first detention had gone, but then something in Merlin's head – the part where his Magic was kept – went _ping_ -

And the world seemed to turn silent and slow.

There was another Old Magic user here.

Merlin stood midway up the stairs, shocked still at the fact. So shocked in fact, that he had temporarily forgotten who and where he was. Seamus ran into him from behind, forcing him down a few steps after almost tumbling over the banister.

"Gallopin' gargoyles. Don't just stand t'ere Myrddin – your noggin nearly bashed me groin!"

His hand rose to his temple as his head went _ping_ again, the sound resonating painfully within him. Whoever it was was coming closer. Coming _here_.

"- alright Myrddin?"

Belatedly, Merlin realised that Neville was speaking to him, a gentle hand laid on his shoulder, and a kind tone to his voice.

"Yes – sorry," He replied, sounding faraway even to his own ears. He couldn't blame Neville when his eyebrows witched ever so slightly in scepticism, but as soon as that tell played out, a flash of sadness and disappointment with understanding smoothing the lines over before returning to its permanent kind state.

 _Ping!_

Normally, Merlin would have puzzled over his friend's reaction, and have pestered him till he found the reasoning behind it. But this was no ordinary occasion and instead he turned away, and closed his eyes tightly to mask the shine of gold his iris had taken, his hand still squeezed tight in a fist. His feet grew cold, and when he lifted it up to show the others, the gaping hole in the sole spoke for itself.

"Sorry – splinter. I shall return henceforth once the situation has been rectified."

Neville simply... looked at him. But after a moment, acquisitioned and silently led the others down the stairs. But Merlin didn't watch them retreat – another sign of rudeness but he couldn't bring himself to _care_ -

PING.

Looking over the banister, he saw her. A girl with long dirty blonde hair and piercing grey eyes was staring at him from behind the doorway to the Great Hall. Making eye contact, she smiled, and skipped out, coming to a standstill directly below the warlock, seemingly content at craning her neck to gaze up at him unblinkingly.

"I've been wondering when I would get to meet you," She informed him excitedly.

"I knew not that I would make your acquaintance," Merlin noted.

She tilted her head at that and studied him intently.

"She didn't warn you, I presume."

Merlin opened his mouth to enquire as to _whom_ exactly this lady was who informed her of his presence, but the desire left him when she nodded, her mind seemingly made up and reached out and grabbed the banister. She climbed vertically up the four meters from stair to floor, hauling herself _up_ and _over,_ her arms still reaching out. Merlin's training from being a manservant kicked in and he reached out to steady the (clearly) mad girl's arms, only to be flabbergasted when she moved _beyond_ his grasp to instead wrap her willowy arms around him.

"What must I call you?" She breathed into his ear.

Uncomfortable, Merlin could only reply: "Myrddin Ambrosia."

She giggled, and released him. When she let go a rush of cool air filled her place, and he realised for the first time since he had risen out of bed that he was cold.

"Of course! A predilection no-one sees!"

Although he had yearned to be recognised many times throughout his long life, Merlin had to fight the urge to sidle out from underneath her gaze. The girl gave the impression that she could see through him, and to him. His core, his essence. His _magic._

"Quite a word choice." He stated, mayhap a tad sharp for the young girl – but then again it _was_ an unusual occasion.

"I could say the same for you," The girl retorted, the smile having never left her face.

Merlin's eyes flashed in warning, and his magic, which was already reacting to her presence – her _unnatural, impossible presence_ – rose close to the surface. She faltered, a reaction that any sane mortal would have made and stepped upwards two steps, before confusion clouded her eyes. She winced, and shook her head slightly, deliberately avoiding his eyes, as she focused on something behind him.

"Oh! They're serving porridge," she exclaimed. "I best eat before they swap the jam for blood sauce. And the sugar for salt." Her smile, which had already dimmed, disappeared altogether momentarily, before returning shakily. "Lovely to meet you – goodbye."

Stepping to the side, she skipped down the stairs, and if she hadn't said her farewells, Merlin would have thought he was invisible; for all that she had paid attention to him within the last few seconds. He frowned watching her disappear into the hall, which increased only when his stomach rumbled loudly.

Sighing, he walked down and into the Hall and seeing Seamus and Dean huddled around a newspaper, made his way over to them.

"You may smile, gentlemen, for I have returned. And I say, I was wondering if you knew – what's wrong?"

For Neville had looked up at him grimly and Merlin registered that the mood in the Hall that morning was grim. Obviously it was breakfast – and very few were ever happy to be awake so early – but even so, this atmosphere seemed almost... foreboding.

Neville said nothing and instead, simply turned the newspaper around, so the headline was blaring out at him.

MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM

DELORUS UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST EVER "HIGH INQUISITOR"

* * *

It was clear the Hermione, and therefore Harry and Ron as well, judging by the succeeding whispered rant that occurred, too, had seen (and read – a feat which Seamus couldn't bring himself to, though Neville had) the article in the Daily Prophet. Her scowl did not disappear until well into Professor Vector's lecture about the pros and cons of Bridget Wenlock theorem – the _first_ theorem about magic in numbers (Merlin had scoffed when she mentioned that as she was the first in the sense she bothered to write the thought down).

"It's terrible though, Myrddin They shouldn't be able to do this, and yet they _did_ and they _can!_ Surely Fudge should see he's gone too far now – Percy used to say –"Here she stopped abruptly, her cheeks reddening as she clenched her eyes shut in frustration.

"You are young, Hermione, and thus to us it seems too simple and easy. But once you are old, we become set in our ways, compliant and content, yet still a child in all the wrong ways. Fudge wishes to remain in power, and thus he does so childishly, besmirching his opponent's name as one does a babe on the fairground. It is likely that while he is happy with the immediate consequences in doing so, he has not comprehended the far reaching. Mark my words: in acting as he has done so today, he has constructed his own downfall."

"A downfall in which Voldemort will _clearly_ take advantage off _!"_ She hissed.

"Is everything alright Miss Granger?" Professor Vector asked.

"Yes Professor, I was just explaining to Myrddin some of the concepts you are covering."

"Explaining the concepts my buttock. I've written down everything she's said so far, whilst your parchment remains as blank as Fudge's morals. That is to say: none."

"Shhh," Hermione nudged him. She scribbled down everything hastily concentrating intently on what Vector was saying, but Merlin knew she wasn't through.

"I shot down Harry's and Ron's theory that Fudge was working for Voldemort – once those two get an idea into their heads, they like to inform as many people as they can and discrediting the Minister will only make us weak – but now... Now I wonder if perhaps there is some merit to the idea."

But Merlin was already shaking his head. "Fudge is acting on his own, though granted he might have been swayed by his multitudes of advisors, some which might very well be Voldemort sympathisers. But this is not a plot that Voldemort himself would likely conceive – or at least, it is far more cunning than those he has put in place before hand."

Hermione looked at him oddly.

"I thought you knew little of this world and it's relatively recent history."

"I'm disappointed in you Hermione honestly. Haven't you ever heard of the library? Whilst I am admittedly well versed in ancient history -"

Professor Vector interrupted them again – clearly their private and quiet conversation was not quite enough - asking a question which Hermione thankfully answered, but Merlin had zoned out.

 _Fudge has been swayed by his advisors... This is not a plot Voldemort himself would likely conceive... Ancient history..._

Merlin shut his eyes tightly, and thought back to when he was sleeping, and he _remembered_.

" _Umbridge has access to all of the children, through her position as a teacher of a subject which is compulsory up to OWL level and is popular in itself."_

" _Precisely. But not popular enough, I feel."_

 _..."I want Delores Umbridge to find him."_

For the love of Camelot, this was _Morgana's_ doing.

* * *

Charms was after Arithmancy, and when Merlin and Hermione took their usual seats next to Ron and Harry, the ginger caught them up to date on everything that had occurred in Divination, where Professor Trelawney had apparently been observed, causing Hermione to say rather viciously;

"It serves the old fraud right."

Taken aback, Merlin frowned at her answer. Surely nobody could be horrific enough to warrant Umbridge's unfair appraisal of their skills? It seemed that Harry thought similar as in an unspoken agreement between the two (Ron was too distracted by catching up with his History of Magic homework); both decided to not speak to Hermione for the rest of the day. Yet that stance faded when all entered Transfiguration. For Umbridge was sitting in the corner, armed with a clipboard.

"Excellent," Ron whispered as they sat down in their seats. "Let's see Umbridge get what she deserves."

Hermione bit her lip but didn't say anything as McGonagall entered at the exact moment, marching into the room without giving the slightest indication that she knew Professor Umbridge was there.

"That will do," she said and silence fell immediately. "My Finnegan kindly come here and hand back the homework – Miss Brown, please take this box of mice – don't be silly girl, they won't harm you – and hand one to each student –"

" _Hem, hem,"_ said Professor Umbridge, employing the same silly cough she had used to interrupt Dumbledore on the first night of term. Professor McGonagall ignored her. Seamus handed back Merlin's essay and with a feeling of both pride and dismay, he found it to have been marked as an _A._

 _Sound theory and work completed to a great merit,_ the Professor had written, _but lacking standard constructed arguments. Do not be discouraged, Mister Ambrosia – this was to a good standard, one which I can and will gladly help you improve upon._

"Right then, everyone listen closely – Dean Thomas, if you do that to a mouse again I shall put you in detention – most of you have now successfully vanished your snails and even those who were left with a certain amount have got the gist of the spell. Today, we shall be – "

" _Hem, hem,_ " said Professor Umbridge.

"Yes?" Professor McGonagall said turning around, her eyebrows so close together they seemed to form one, long severe line.

"I was just wondering Professor, whether you received my note telling you the time and date of my insp-"

" _Obviously_ , _"_ Professor McGonagall replied, putting extra emphasis on the first word. "I received it, or else I would have demanded why you were here in my classroom," she said, turning her back firmly of Professor Umbridge. Around Merlin, many of the students exchanged looks of glee and the Old Warlock himself couldn't stop himself from smiling; he liked McGonagall and it was nice to see someone standing up to Umbridge. "As I was saying, today we shall be practising the more difficult banishment of mice. Now –"

" _Hem, hem._ " The annoying cough again sounded.

"I wonder," said Professor McGonagall in cold fury, turning on Professor Umbridge, " _how_ you can expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I generally do not permit people to talk when I am talking."

To this, Umbridge looked as though she had been slapped in the face. Not speaking she straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began to scribble furiously. It amused Merlin to see that Professor McGonagall looked supremely unconcerned as she began to address the class once more and next to him, Ron nudged Harry in delight.

"Now, as I was saying before I was _rudely_ interrupted, who knows why vanishing mice are more difficult then vanishing snails?"

Hermione's hand promptly went up in the air (the only one to do so) at this question. Obviously, Merlin knew the answer, but chose not to participate at the point in time. He was still unsure of what the normal level of spellmanship he should be at in order to remain inconspicuous – or at least as much as he could be in the teacher's eyes due to his labelling of being "dyslexic" (and what even _was_ that he had to look it up at some point).

After peering around the room, Professor McGonagall acknowledged Hermione's waving hand.

"Miss Granger?"

"The snail is an invertebrate and thus doesn't present much of a challenge because it is less complex. However, with a mouse, it is a mammal, so it is harder as all of the complicated systems have to be vanished at the same time." Hermione said in a rush.

"Very good Miss Granger, five points to Gryffindor." Professor McGonagall said, before continuing briskly. "Now, it is true that vanishing mammals is difficult, but what is the most complex form of vanishing?"

She looked around the room, but this time even Hermione did not raise her hand (and with amusement, Merlin noticed she seemed put out by the fact)

 _Hermione_ (which was saying something) didn't put her hand up. Instead, Merlin raised it slowly.

"Mr Ambrosia?"

He paused to collect his thoughts and arrange them in a legible order, discarding information that would be of too great a knowledge for one his age.

"Contrary to popular opinion, I believe it is more complex to vanish parts of an animal than it is to banish a whole? Thus whilst it might be easier to vanish... a toad for instance" (the animal leaping into mind when he saw Umbridge perching in the corner) "it is much harder to vanish, uh, the hair – do toads even have hair I wonder – or an eye or that of the sort."

"Correct!" Professor McGonagall said, smiling. "Ten points to your house, Mr Ambrosia for managing to answer a difficult question. Turning back round to the class, she continued: "This is why it is so dangerous to attempt transfigurating another human or yourself, such as in the case of Animagus' and is why it is restricted to seventh years or above." Here she looked over her glasses at Harry, who ducked his head, grinning. "Imagine, if you will, that I decide to change into my feline form, yet my concentration is wavering and instead of fully gaining my second form, I am still human, yet with the addition of a tail."

Hermione squeaked in her seat and turned red. Now Ron was nudging her, grinning broadly. Merlin felt he was missing something.

"It is much harder to vanish a tail due to the complicated structure it possesses as well as the muscles needed to move it, which although humans possess and use, albeit not in the same way, are inescapably linked. Thus, it is imperative to only vanish certain parts of a whole. That is why a medical professional as well as your master should always be on hand when the first few transformations take place – so that they can help you when mishaps occur."

She was silent for a moment as she let that sink in. Then said brusquely: "Of course however, those days are far from now, however I thought it would be prudent for you all to know the greater context, in order to gather the importance of learning the skill. Thus you all know the incantation, so let us see what you can do..."

"How can she lecture me about losing my temper with Umbridge?" Harry complained quietly, but he was grinning as he did so.

They started to concentrate vanishing their mice, and after her third or fourth attempt, when Hermione was properly concentrating, Merlin enquired quietly, so that only the four of them could hear her; "When were you turned into a cat?"

Hermione squeaked again, almost dropping her wand, whilst Ron almost prodded his mouse in the eye his hand was shaking from laughter so much, "How did you know that?"

"So I _was_ right," Merlin realised. He couldn't help the grin that spread over his face.

Hermione covered her glowing face with her hands. "I wish she hadn't mentioned it now – what a wicked thing to do."

"Nah," Ron countered. "McGonagall just has a sense of humour. 'Snot as if anybody else knows is it?"

"I don't think so," Hermione muttered, in what was probably an attempt to be indignant, but simply came across as a childish pout.

"I think she does, actually." Harry disagreed. "I mean, think about it, Fred and George for a start; jokes, pranks and talking back. And Peeves."

"True," Ron said, after a while of him deep in thought.

It was interesting to see, that unlike what apparently happened in Divination, Umbridge did not follow the Transfiguration teacher around; perhaps because she realised that McGonagall would not be likely to permit it. So instead, she sat practically cowering in the corner and when Professor McGonagall all told them to pack away, she rose with a grim expression on her face.

"How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" Professor Umbridge asked, opening the interrogation as the children began to pass through the doors.

"Thirty-nine years this December," said Professor McGonagall brusquely, snapping her bag shut.

Professor Umbridge (of course) made a note.

"Very well," she said, "you will receive the results of your inspection in ten days time."

"I can _hardly_ wait," Professor McGonagall replied in a cold and indifferent voice.

* * *

The dawn the next day could be described as non-descript, though Merlin thought otherwise.

The Warlock had returned late to the Dormitory the night before, so late that the others hadn't bothered to wait up for him, he could see hundreds of knitted socks and hats, which signalled that at least Hermione had tried. Shaking his head fondly, he quickly cleaned the rubbish off the various knitted articles for he was principled enough – and here, this thought had made Merlin grin, because Arthur would have been amused at this- to let the House-Elves _see_ what they were picking up, and not be set free accidently.

Even so, he couldn't help but rise early, and with nowhere else to go in Gryffindor Tower for fear of meeting and having to interact with another, he decided to visit the Astronomy Tower.

Merlin watched the sun struggle to break through the clouds and cast its warm, golden glow on the land. Yes, Merlin decided, a phenomenon such as the one he was seeing could _never_ be described as 'non-descript'.

To him, a dawn would always be beautiful. Dawn represented the renewal of hope, that no matter how long you spent in the darkness, light would always conquer. The knowledge that the world had and would keep on turning, dawning a day which would emerge ever so slowly, and then all at once. Night ended old ages, and dawn brought age anew.

Albion.

And Merlin, the man whom had fought beside the great Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, whom had walked through the carnage that had torn apart the world unscathed, whom had suffered as he saw friends, people, relatives born, live and _die,_ heaved a heavy sigh.

So _many_ people had told him that Arthur would rise again. Kiligarrah, Aithusa, Dorochna, Triple Goddess would be to name but a few. The belief had sustained him through the darkness in the subsequent centauries but now that belief was fading into the night.

Because surely after thirteen hundred years, since he had been deemed 'Immortal', time had passed long enough to allow his best friend and his Liege to return?

If he had been any other, _lesser_ man (for he was not mortal and perhaps never was nor will be) Merlin would have cursed the Triple Goddess and the Old Religion, shaking his fist at the sky and setting the world aflame as he did so.

But he was not.

And so he extracted himself from the roof of the Astronomy Tower and headed downstairs back to where the students which he would hesitate to call friends slept, peacefully and soundly, slumbering on as the "Greatest Sorcerer to ever walk the Earth" (honestly what a mouthful Gaius) fretted about the future, the present and the past.

For what was the darkest hour, if not before dawn?

* * *

After Harry received _another_ detention with Umbridge for his outburst in the Care of Magical Creatures lesson – the High Inquisitor had been in attendance and Malfoy predictably riled up the Gryffindor by talking down the previous teacher, who was clearly a friend to the Gryffindors – Merlin, Ron and Hermione stayed up in a unanimous decision. Whilst Merlin was happily reading a history book written about the last two centuries, Ron and Hermione were playing Gobstones. The fire cast its light over the marble pieces, causing flickering shadows to rise and fall as the Players moved them respective pieces with intense looks of concentration on their faces.

Excusing himself, Merlin moved to relief himself, returning moments later to the site of Harry standing near the porthole, red painted hand unwrapped with a crimson strip falling to the floor –

"Blood. That's blood. Pray tell, why are you bleeding?"

Harry looked up, and automatically turned away, so the Warlock couldn't see.

"Ah, it's nothing Myrddin – I accidently trapped it in the porthole door when I was coming through."

"Well I should like to see it – and desist in the protests, Harry, for I was a Physician's Apprentice: the least I can do is treating your injury after having to spend hours doing whatever your detention is with that detestable lady."

The others exchanged glances, and Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but it was too late. Merlin had already reached forward to gently clasp the boy's wrist, turning it up and towards him to find – to find –

"What a _foul, loathsome, evil woman!"_ He half snarled. His magic reacted with the emotion and it rose up, causing the curtains to flutter alarmingly and a piece of parchment floated around the Common Room before it was caught alight by the fingers of the flames which had risen frighteningly high before resorting its usual shape and form. _"_ To harm someone in this way – a _child_ no less – why even _Morgana_ in her most blood thirstiest of days would not stoop so low. Only Uther and _ha!_ The old tyrant would be aghast and ashamed at how he is so easily comparable to the sheer _demon_ that would do such a thing!"

As he was ranting, he moved back, almost yanking Harry across the room to the fire, where the light it gave off illuminated the _disgusting sickening_ injury in order to allow him to examine it in greater detail.

"Tis an enchanted blade she used – an enchantment of the worst kind. Old, far older than it should be possible – not goblin, nor fae but –"

He bent down, and sniffed Harry's arm to the boy's utter confusion and slight disgust, and then snarled and turned to spit in the fire.

"-I was _wrong_ that complete and utter _bitch._ Even _I_ thought you could never stoop so low Morgana, but a curse in the blade of the old tongue could only be her –"

Merlin spun, and hurried up the stairs, his eyes already gleaming gold for when he shoved the door open (gently enough to cause no noise for he wasn't _that_ far gone though still very irate) and spelled his already enchanted medicine box to shoot through the air towards him. He clutched it, relieved and headed back downstairs.

To think he almost did not take it with him -

Bounding back down the stairs, taking them almost five at a time, he had returned to Harry's side almost before the poor boy had registered he had gone. Completely ripping the boy's sleeve of, unheeding his indignant cry – "The curse has already soaked into the material – so hush up unless you _want_ to lose your arm?" – He once more brought it closer to the firelight, muttering to himself all the while.

"He's talking gibberish and – _mate,"_ Merlin heard Ron dimly exclaim when he licked the blood that was spurting out of his hand.

"It's his native tongue Ronald – don't you remember?" Hermione gently reprimanded the ginger. "Still – that's not exactly hygienic Myrddin-"

"Ha!" Merlin exclaimed ignoring them as he turned to rummage through his medicine box. Closing his eyes he softly whispered the healing incantation, a bottle shined a dull blue before returning to is bogey green state. A pro of becoming so incensed he spoke in the Arthurian tongue was that the teenagers couldn't recognise when he used Old Magic. Who knew?! Lifting the flagged glass jar, he swivelled, the lid coming easily undone in his hands.

"There he said," Thrusting the jar towards Harry, who still stood there, seemingly shell-shocked over what was occurring, and "That should help for now. It won't cause the curse to desist completely, but it shall most certainly hinder thine efforts. I shall need to experience it for myself in order to counter it efficiently."

"It's not that we don't trust you –we _do –_ "Ron said hastily, plucking the jar out of Harry's grip, "But what exactly _is i_ t mate?"

Merlin blinked. "It's a solution of strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles, among other things."

" _Oh,"_ Hermione gasped, "Of course! I should have thought that myself –"

Merlin levelled his gaze to her. "You mean to say, you knew of this horror the whole time?"

Hermione quailed for a moment under his gaze, before seemingly finding her backbone and straightened up. Begrudgingly, Merlin admired her for it – but he was still too incensed to indicate so. But before he could rip into her – and Ronald of course who had to have known, Harry interrupted.

"Thanks," he said gratefully as he relaxed in what apparently was the first time in hours.

Merlin cooled somewhat at the obvious gratitude in his tone.

"It is of no consequence," He said stiffly.

Harry shook his head. "But it _is_ – I've been in a great deal of pain, and this is the first thing to have worked."

Merlin opened his mouth again in what would undoubtedly be a most wonderful tirade against the trio, but Ron, apparently sensing this – which in any other occasion Merlin would have been surprised as the boy seemed to have a limited ability in sensing emotional and social cues that wasn't insults – spoke instead, and the conversation moved swiftly on, helped by Hermione.

"I still reckon you should complain about this," Ron said in a low voice.

"No," Harry replied flatly.

"McGonagall would go nuts if she knew-"

"Yeah she probably would." Harry seemed to be contemplating the idea, until; "And how long do you reckon it'd take Umbridge to pass another decree saying anyone who complains against the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?"

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out and after a moment, closed it again in defeat.

"She's an awful woman," Hermione said in a small voice, " _Awful_. You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in about how we've got to do something about her."

Ron helped to lighten the atmosphere by saying (albeit in a rather grim voice) "I suggested poison."

Unbidden, a snort fell out of Merlin's nose as he cooled down somewhat. That wasn't to say he was still angry – to be accurate he was _furious_ \- but he recognised the uselessness of the emotion and the actions that would accompany it if he let loose now. Still –

"She meant that the daemon is an atrocious teacher, not in the least because there shall be no learning from her."

"I –yes, that was what I meant," Hermione said, blinking slightly.

"Well, what can we do about that?" Harry countered. Ron joined in, yawning; "'S too late, isn't it? She's got the job, she's here to stay. Fudge will make sure of that."

"Well," Hermione said tentatively. "You know, I've been thinking today... I was thinking that –maybe the time's come when we should just – just do it ourselves."

"Do what ourselves?" Harry asked suspiciously, hand still floating in the Murtlap tentacles.

"Learn it, obviously." Merlin commented.

"Extra work?" Ron said disbelief etched in all of his features.

"But this is more important than homework!"

"I didn't think there was anything in the universe more important than homework!" Ron said, goggling at Hermione.

"Don't be silly – of course there is. It's about preparing ourselves for what's out there. It's about making sure we can really defend ourselves. If we don't learn anything for a whole year-"

"We can't do much by ourselves," Ron said in a rather defeated tone. "We can go and look up jinxes in the Library and practise them I suppose."

"No," Merlin said. "You have passed the stage where one can learn out of books. Is that not what Hermione's point is? If you truly want to succeed in Defence, and all that comes with it, than proper lessons must be procured."

"If you're talking about Lupin..." Harry began.

Hermione cast a slightly nervous look at Merlin who rolled his eyes at the obviousness of it all. "No, no I'm not talking about Lupin... He's too _busy_ and anyway, the most we could see him is during the Hogsmeade weekends, and that is just simply not enough."

"Who then?" Ron and Harry asked, frowning at Hermione.

Merlin sighed, his short temper made even worse by the irksome duo who was being particularly slow to catch on as to what Hermione was hedging towards.

"She's talking about _you,_ Harry."

Ron was frowning- as apparently thinking was a hard task for him- before saying; "That's an idea."

"What's an idea?" asked Harry infuriatingly.

Sometimes, Merlin pondered, people can be oblivious. It was so _annoying_.

"You," Merlin said pointing at him, "teaching them"- pointing at Hermione and Ron - "to do it."

Hermione frowned at this, but didn't say anything. Probably hurt her ego, he thought bitterly, becoming increasingly fed up at the trio's behaviour.

"I'm not a teacher I can't-"

"Harry," Hermione said patiently, with the air of talking to a small child. "You're the best in our year at DADA."

"Me?" Harry started to grin. "No, I'm not, you've beaten me in every test-"

"Actually, I haven't." Hermione replied coolly. "You beat me in the third year- the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually _knew_ the subject. But I'm not talking about test results, Harry. Think about what you've _done_."

"Huh?"

"You know what," Ron said, smirking slightly as he turned to face Merlin and Hermione. "I'm not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me. Let's think, first year –saved the Philosopher's Stone from You-Know-Who."

"But that wasn't luck, that was skill-"

Ron interrupted Harry. "Second year, you fought the Basilisk and destroyed Riddle."

"Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up, I-"

Again, Ron cut off his best friend, his voice a little louder which coincided with his grin. "Third year, you fought off about hundred Dementors at once."

"You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn't-"

"Last year," Ron said, almost shouting now, the smirk on his face growing broader every second, "you fought You-Know-Who _again-"_

"STOP LAUGHING!"

The bowl of Murtlap essence fell to the floor and smashed as Harry stood up, trembling with rage. Merlin rolled his eyes at the dramatics.

"Oi – I _made_ that for you, you idiot!"

Harry snarled at him, before rounding on the other two. "Yes, _yes_ I am an idiot! For y _ou don't know what it's like!_ You –neither of you- you've never had to face him, have you? You think it's just memorising a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you're in class or something? The whole time you're sure you know there's nothing between you and dying except your own –you own brain or guts or whatever- like you can think straight when you know you're about a nanosecond from being murdered or tortured. You don't know what it's like watching your friends _die_ -"

Now Harry was the one being snarled at by an angry Merlin, who had become incensed, once again, by the sheer _bollucks_ pouring out of the teenager's mouth.

"Do we not? Pray tell Harry, exactly _why_ do you think I have transferred to Hogwarts at such a time? It is now obvious to me that you never thought – not even for a _moment_ – about the circumstances that led me to be here, now, being ridiculed about loss. There has been more death, more loss, in one _year_ for me than there has been in your _entire life._ Yes, you lost our parents to this evil fiend, who then returned to power via the sacrifice of your dear friend Cedric – except was he so dear to you? Do you know what his favourite colour is? You push away his girlfriend, who is so clearly grieving, and thus in the _selfish_ act are disrespecting his story, his name and his memory in order to protect yourself -for _yes_ I have heard you talk about Miss Cho Chang." He added bitterly. "But I? I am here at Hogwarts for there is _no one_ left. I watched as my Father gave his life for me, I _saw_ the moment that the light left my Mother's eyes. I was _there_ , holding, _pleading_ my Uncle not to leave me. I had to watch, helpless as my Best Friend faded before my _eyes,_ because for all my _magic,_ and for all my _training_ and for all my _skills,_ I couldn't save him. I couldn't save _any_ of them, when it mattered, in the end. _"_

Merlin had started to cry now, little tears that glistened and gleamed in the firelight as they rolled down his face and onto the floor. He noticed absentmindedly that the fire had practically died, and the room had gone cold... so very, _very_ cold.

"My friends are _gone,_ my family are _dead._ You say that you have suffered, that we don't understand what you have seen, what you have gone through. You're wrong. _Yes_ , you have suffered, _yes_ you have seen Cedric Diggory die by your side, and _yes_ your parents are dead, murdered. But at least you _have_ family; a Godfather who loves you. At least you _have_ friends; Ron and Hermione who will stick by your side. And you have a _home;_ Hogwarts, where you will always be welcome."

"But I?" He continued ruthlessly, pounding on his chest with a fist that was bloody from Harry's wound, which seemed so long ago now. "I have _no_ family, I have _no_ friends, and I have no _home._ And I have not gained honour for my continuance to live, to _survive,_ unlike you, for the perpetrator is _still alive."_

* * *

 **I apologise for not answering PMs for the last chapter (and maybe even possibly the one before?) I could not access my PMs, and now I doubt anybody would be wanting a reply that is more than three months late : )And for those of you who were wondering, yes, last chapter's title was a Kigsman reference ; )**

 **In addition: after posting this chapter, I shall wait a day or so and then delete the A/N I put up a few weeks ago. I dunno if y'all will get a email about that, or if it means that when I next post a chapter, it might not show up. I just thought I should warn you : )**


	10. Downfall

**Hello everybody! My laptop, once fixed, broke again shortly after, which was why I haven't updated in so long. Alas, this meant I haven't been able to thank those who have reviewed, which I apologise most profusely for.**

 _In the Hands of a Prophesised Vice_

Chapter Nine – Downfall

The subsequent two weeks after Hermione's proposition of the Boy Who Lived teaching Defence whilst not blissful, did not pass wholly unpleasantly for Merlin, which was likely due to the minor detail that he had avoided interacting with the trio for prolonged amounts of time. After all, whilst Harry was the key to the fight with Voldemort, and thus Morgana, he was not the only reason Merlin had come to Hogwarts. All children deserve to be protected, not one.

Unfortunately, due to circumstances, Merlin was in the vicinity when Hermione brought up the idea again. Honestly, for a girl who was famed (in the school that is) for her intelligence and prowess in knowledge, and who berated her best friends for their emotional blunders, she was equally as deficient (the Warlock knew that was not the correct word to describe her, but he was not feeling all that kind towards the girl) in the area of feelings and emotions.

"I was wondering," Hermione said suddenly, shifting in her seat, "whether you'd thought any more about Defence, Harry."

Ron hunkered down in his seat and attempting to be subtle, said quietly: "Pince will have our heads if we're too loud. Why don't we talk back at the Tower?"

One of Merlin's eyebrows rose, impressed with the redhead's reasoning and both the voiced and voiceless points, but continued to stare down at his book, not completely feigning disinterest in the conversation.

"Since when did you ever care about disturbing the peace?" Hermione shot back.

Merlin groaned quietly. Ron's eyes flickered towards him, in a pointed glance towards the Witch, but before she could rectify the blunder, Harry spoke, unheeding of the silent conversation he had just interrupted.

"Course I have," Harry said, deliberately misunderstanding the question. "Can't forget it, can we, with that _hag_ teaching us-"

Hermione turned back to him, effectively dismissing Ron's hints at continuing the conversation in safer surroundings and without Merlin being present, drawn back into the conversation she had started.

"I meant the idea that Ron, -" Ron cast an alarmed, threatening kind of look. She frowned at him, "-Oh all right, the idea that M-" Ron kicked her, " _I_ had then – about you teaching us."

Harry didn't answer at once, but Merlin noticed that he shot a quick glance his way before studiously returning to his book on potion ingredients. Merlin completely ignored him, and continued to 'research' ingredients for a particularly 'fiddly' Potion, where in reality he was just reading the whole book, from start to finish.

It was an interesting book on the study of a particular field of potions which induce animalistic shapes. It was rather like the Polyjuice Potion, except that was designed for human mimicry, and this one was designed for animal. He had taken it out under the pretence that the ingredients he was looking for would be in there, but in reality he was just gaining a more in depth knowledge of shape shifting. Even though it was a book on the New Magic, it might give him so helpful pointers on how to Shift, and react to the falcon better. For it was undisputed that he would fly again, for whilst it was painful it was also _freedom._

"Well," Harry said slowly, finally deigning to answer Hermione's question after almost a minute of silence, "yeah, I-I've thought about it a bit."

"And?" Hermione said eagerly.

"I dunno," Harry replied. He was obviously playing for time, and he looked up at Ron.

"I thought it was a good idea from the start," Ron said, who seemed a lot keener to join in this conversation now that he was sure Harry wouldn't start shouting again.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair, again looking at Merlin before turning away.

"You did listen to what I said about a load of it being luck, didn't you?"

"Hard to miss mate."

"But all the same," Hermione said quickly after Ron spoke, trying to distract Harry. "There's no point in pretending that you're no good at Defence against the Dark Arts, because you are. You were the only person last year who could throw off the Imperious Curse completely-"

"Pardon?"

Merlin finally brought his head up and looked at his study partners, totally surprised by what Hermione had just revealed. And not only that, but had mentioned as _casually_ as if – "You've had the Imperious practised on you? On _all_ of you?"

"We'll explain later, mate." Ron said with a wave of his hand.

"That's _illegal –"_

Hermione marched on, undeterred by the gaping Warlock sat diagonally from her. "You can produce a Patronus-"

"Explain later," Ron said, before Merlin had even opened his mouth.

"You can do all sorts of stuff that full-grown wizards can't, Viktor always said –"

Ron turned round at her so fast he appeared to crick his neck. Rubbing it, he said, "Yeah, What did Vicky say?"

"Ho, ho," Hermione replied in a bored voice. "He said that Harry knew how to do stuff even he didn't, and he was in the final year of Durmstrang."

Ron was looking at Hermione suspiciously.

"You're still not in contact with him, are you?"

"She can explain later," Merlin interrupted before Hermione retorted. He was in no mood to witness _another_ of the frequent arguments, let alone defuse one when none of them had had the curtsey to defuse _him._

She shot the Warlock a grateful look, causing the Warlock to slowly anger – to show gratitude when the same courtesy had not been given to him was appalling - ignoring Ron (who was still watching her) and said to Harry, "Well what d'you think? Will you teach us?"

"Just you three, yeah?"

Once again, he completed a side-long glance at Merlin, before quickly flicking his eyes away.

"Well," said Hermione, looking a mite anxious _again._ "Well... now, don't fly across the handle again, Harry please... but I really think you ought to teach anyone who wants to learn. I mean, we're talking about defending ourselves against V-Voldemort. Oh don't be _pathetic_ , Ron. It doesn't seem fair if we don't offer the chance to other people."

Harry considered this for a moment, then said (voicing a surprisingly good point) "Yeah, but I doubt anyone except you guys would want to be taught by me, 'cos I'm a nutter, remember?"

Harry's eyes rested on Merlin _again,_ but this was one time too many for Merlin and he snapped.

"By your body's own admittance, it seems as if I am the one stricken with madness yonder. Why do you keep on gazing at me so?" Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Merlin cut him off, continuing as another question popped into his mind. "And why haven't you answered the proposed inquiry thus? It's obvious that you have already decided to teach those who wish to be taught. Now you are prolonging our suffering. Why?"

A flush of embarrassment, and a terrible excuse on the tip of the tongue. Merlin would not stand for the rudeness again however, and stood up, giving in to his frustration. Clearly, despite the trio's pleas for help – even if Hermione's was rather stilted in comparison – the studying was done for the night.

"It is clear what has been decided. There is no need to inform me as to whence the meeting shall occur. Good evening."

He picked up his book and slotted it back in its place in the bookcase, taking care not to damage the tome.

"You're leaving? But you haven't explained to me about –"

Merlin softened momentarily upon Ron's plea, remembering the –admittedly poorly executed – manner in which he had tried to spare him from Hermione's ongoing crusade.

"My apologies, but Hermione should be an adequate substitute. She has helped before, has she not?"

"Yes but –"

"Myrddin – please." Hermione looked up at him, pleading.

"I am leaving. Do not detain me further."

"Why are you doing this?" She asked, both perplexed and frustrated.

"Because," Merlin replied, turning to walk away, "You need to learn that in your single minded determination to complete your goal, the ones you deem unimportant and left by the wayside will be the key to your downfall later."

* * *

Merlin groaned.

It was late, and freezing rain was lashing down outside, a state which would never have bothered him in his youth, but now he was an old, old man and he liked his comforts. He didn't want to return to the Gryffindor Common Room – he had taken solace in its empty status at supper but now that it was late evening, it would be heaving with students. It meant that he would have nowhere to let loose the anger that was pent up inside him.

For a moment, he wondered if his anger was truly justified, but that thought died a fearsome death when he recalled all of the slights his fellow pupils had dealt him, and it rose fiercely once more. The common room was out then: his cover would be blown too early in the year and he was in no mood to deal with the fall out the revelation would undoubtedly cause.

His hawk flashed into his mind, along with the Unicorns seconds later, but he dismissed the pleasure of their company. The night will be long, wet and cold, and they would have taken shelter respectively: it was likely he would never be able to find them and remain dry at the same time.

His stomach rumbled, and his question was answered.

* * *

Entering the Kitchens, silence fell upon the room like a blanket, and although the pots and pans continued to simmer and sizzle, the sound seemed muffled somehow. A sea of miniature figures as swivelled as one to face the entrance, drawn like a moth to a flame, an action that a bystander would be unable to explain, but one that Merlin could answer: they could feel his magic, _taste_ it.

They could sense he was kin to the Old Religion.

One lone elf ventured forwards, intent on his mission, muttering aloud to himself.

"I can smell it, I can _taste_ it, oh yes Fyred can." A tongue flickered out to taste the air, and then the leathery skin cracked to show a wide smile, with the eyes crinkling at the corners. "And I have been blessed; yes I have, to have met thee thrice in a life. I welcome, thee, Master Emrys."

A moment, where nobody dared to breathe, and then the sea swelled towards him, only broken by a sole elf that remained seemingly unaffected and continue his intense conversation with a girl, a _human_ girl, their presence a rock amid the ocean.

"Master Emrys?" A House Elf breathed in surprise, dropping the chef knife from his hand, the utensil narrowly missing the tiny feet protruding from his lithe body.

"Emrys?" A House Elf muttered, from further back.

 _"Master_ Emrys?"

" _Emrys?_

" _The_ Emrys?"

Merlin's True Name rebounded around the Kitchen, with all of the occupants mouthing the name, savouring the power it held, relishing the dusting of magic it gave the speaker. The sea surged, regaining momentum and noise too, as the Elves pushed, desperate to talk to him, to offer their services, to touch him, to speak to him. And Merlin let them. Normally, he didn't like people swooning at his name and his power because he was from a legend, but House Elves were different; They were old, _old_ creatures, and many had met him before. To most, he was an old friend, and to the rest, he was a figure shrouded in mystery, who received stories about him whilst they worked.

Soon, he was reacquainting himself with the inhabitants of the Kitchens, and renewing friendships. Each time one came up to him, they would exchange stories and Merlin would enquire about their family, before they went on their way. After all, most knew him well enough to know that he didn't like _that_ much attention. Sadly though, the memo had not reached five young Elves, barely freed from their cradles that latched onto the Warlock with all their strength. Only until he had acknowledged their family and their connection to him did they relinquish their grip, but they didn't stray too far, and found reasons for doing so. Their relatives watched on in fond amusement, many of them also feeling a tinge of embarrassment for behaving in the same manner when they too, met the living legend.

But eventually, he was free, only taking one word to remove the crowd completely from the immediate vicinity.

"Could-"

"Of course, Master Emrys!" Áfyred spoke, anticipating what Merlin was going to ask for before he had finished speaking. "Your favourites are coming right up!"

The Ancient Warlock was quickly hurried to a seat with exclamations of "Forgive our rudeness, Master Emrys", "Taste _mine,_ it's improved" and variations thereof. He laughed loudly and freely when they served him rat strew knowing full well the memories it held for him. The laughter died however, when he realised who the other human in the kitchen was. Thankfully however she remained distracted by who seemed the only House Elf to remain unaffected by the kindred spirit seated next to him. Yet it seemed to fit as he surveyed the creature, noting the five different woollen hats he was sporting on his knobbly head, in conjunction with multiple sets of mismatched socks which seemed strangely familiar to him.

After he had finished his supper, Merlin absentmindedly handed Áfyred his empty bowl of tomato and basil soup which had been wiped clean by the freshly baked bread which had been provided for him, instead staring at the House Elf who was _still_ interacting with the only other Human (though Merlin reminded himself that he wasn't quite sure that he was in the category, not any more) who was sitting opposite him.

"Curious," He said to himself.

"Pardon sir?"

"I am certain I have never met him before, and yet he seems immune to me."

Áfyred drolly replied. "Considering your response, how unusual it must be, for someone to be able to resist you. Why, I'm flattered that we're on first name terms, me being only a lowly House Elf."

Merlin snorted. "You know what I mean. It's not necessarily a bad thing, simply curious. Pray tell: his name?"

"Dobby. He's new." The shortness of Merlin's of the Elf's voice surprised him. He thought he would have overcome the prejudice by now, but seemingly not. Clearly House Elves were not the only followers of the Old Religion who become stuck in their ways.

"Just because he's been _freed_ doesn't make him abnormal, Áfyred. You should know that."

"Still, it was rude and improper to not introduce himself to you. Dobby," He called, getting off his seat, "Come here, will you?"

Before Merlin even had time to open his mouth to object, the girl had looked up and Dobby had run over, and bowed to the Warlock, and then to his fellow Elf. "Yes?"

"You haven't paid respects to our guest. This is Master Emrys."

"Dobby is most sorry about this. Dobby must punish himself!" The House Elf decreed, bowing low again to Merlin before proceeding to reach for a (thankfully empty) frying pan, where it was obvious that he was going to hit himself on the head with it. Acting faster than a mortal could, Merlin reached out and grabbed the House Elf, before making him firmly stand still on the spot.

"It's quite alright, Dobby, I don't mind." Merlin smiled down at the House Elf, who froze, before smiling back slowly in relief.

"Now Dobby, I think you have spent enough time talking with the student, it's time you returned to your _work._ " Áfyred said, before proceeding to direct orders with what the Elf was supposed to do.

After he sent Dobby off, he came back to Merlin. "I'm sorry about Dobby, Master Emrys. He is somewhat of a misfit... as he's being _paid_ to work!" Áfyred shuddered, as if the very thought repulsed him, making Merlin laugh.

But quickly however, Merlin sobered up and said; "Don't be too harsh on him, friend. It is healthy to have dreamers, believers and idealists in your society. For do you not believe and worship the one who saved your mother when you threatened her life so?"

"Indeed I did," Áfyred acknowledged. "But I _distinctly_ remember there being no instructions to worship the menial helper who presided over my birth. He bowed, his head almost touching the floor in apparent reverence of once more meeting the man whom had delivered him, though Merlin knew that he was putting it on. "Now, if you excuse me, Master Emrys, I have some cooking to prepare - I believe a midnight feast is being prepared for in the Hufflepuff Tower."

With that, Áfyred swept away to various stations in the kitchens, issuing orders and tasting recipes to his heart's content as part of his duties as being Head Chef. But that meant leaving Merlin with the only other human in the kitchen.

"I was wondering when we would meet again." The mad girl stared at him dreamily, a half formed smile on her lips.

Merlin fought the urge to show discomfort at the eerie gaze, instead opting to say nothing. He was unwilling to say anything when she would likely tear the words apart to extract information he had no wish to give in the first place.

"I see." She stepped forward and offered her hand. "A sound tactic, but only when involving those who are less observant. Which to you and I, are most people I suppose. Anyway – I'm Luna."

Merlin raised an eyebrow, but bent to kiss her head anyway. "Some might say you are arrogant."

Luna laughed. "Only due to your own actions. I was offering my hand to shake. It was you who raised my status to that of a noble."

Despite that not being what Merlin was referencing – he was curious about her comment on observance – he still felt awkward by the accidental faux pas he had created. Customs in this century were so difficult to remember.

"Surely it is a compliment that I thought of you as one?"

She stood still, pondering the question. "I suppose it depends which century noble you thought of me as. It's not that nice being a noble in Revolutionary-era France now, is it? That implies you wish me dead."

He thought his suspicions had been confirmed as she spoke, but she carefully avoided the subject he was trying so hard to establish and startled him into snorting with the opinion on the subject.

"That I do not. " The _yet_ remained unspoken, but by the way she surveyed him with her head tilted to the side, he suddenly wondered if the Triple Goddess had enabled her to read the thoughts of others.

She blinked and her face momentarily scrunched up. She stumbled back slightly, before catching herself on the table both had been eating their separate meals at only a short while before.

"Luna?" Merlin asked, reaching out to her, "Are you okay?"

"I – yes. A Wrackspurt got me by surprise, that's all - wasn't expecting it you see, but it makes sense now really if you think of the possibilities and then I tripped on my shoelaces."

"Wrackspurt?"

Ignoring his question, she turned around, purposely avoiding his still outreaching arms, and instead called out "Dobby?"

The House Elf was by her side in an instant. "Yes Miss – oh is Miss Luna suffering from one of her migraines again? Dobby shall fetch her some more special tea, yes he will for lovely, kind, sweet -" Merlin had the feeling the House Elf could go on all night with the flattering adjectives he was wielding on behalf of the girl. "- gentle Miss Luna."

"Yes please, Dobby." Merlin said. The House Elf turned to leave, but stopped when Luna called him again, now standing as if nothing had ever happened.

"I thought you had cleared the infestation of Wrackspurts that were here, Dobby?"

The House Elf looked guilty for a second, a flash of pain crossing his leathery features before saying in a bright voice; "Yes I did Miss, but perhaps they have regained a foothold. Dobby will gladly rid them of the kitchen after he has brought the tea and punished himself for his mistake –"

"That will not be necessary," Luna interjected, smiling. "I quite understand. But the tea – if you will? May I have it in a flask of some kind – I am feeling quite tired now."

The House elf scuttled out of sight. Almost timidly, Merlin offered the girl his arm. "I will escort you to your Dormitory, if you approve of my offer."

"I would most gladly accept you offer of company, it's very gallant of you." She slipped her arm in-between his and together, their steps in unison, they made their way to the exit. They were stopped by Áfyred along the way, who bowed facetiously, eying the Warlock for the inevitable dislike of respect towards him the display always garnered.

"Dobby has informed me of the tea you wish to consume Miss," he spoke to Luna. "However we have run out and the fresh brew shall take ten minutes to complete. We shall send it to you when it is ready."

"Thank you," She said happily. "Please tell Dobby that would be a great help."

"And food was wonderful, friend. I shall visit soon."

"I cannot wait," The Elf replied drily.

* * *

The two students were silent as they walked away from the kitchens, and unsurprisingly, Luna broke it first.

"I assume you are here for Harry Potter."

"And why do you presume that?"

She shrugged. "Many people are here for Harry Potter, but they differ in their choice of hindering or helping him."

"And which do you think I shall do?"

"What you've always done, of course."

"That," Merlin told her, "Wasn't an answer."

She smiled again, her bright eyes appearing luminous in the dark, but stayed quiet, content instead to simply watch him. He sighed.

"Your assumption is correct."

She smiled and nodded to herself. "Of course it is. I was the one who made it, and I'm always right."

She sounded almost bitter then, an emotion which did not seem to suit her, even though Merlin had only known her for all of thirty minutes by this point. In an effort to cheer her up -for he had been enjoying her quick wittered comments and quirks – he asked her to prove it.

"Very well. What would you like to know?"

"Who am I?"

She stopped at this, and turned to face him. She stood there, bathed in the moonlight and gazed at him, and her silvery eyes were pierced into the Warlock. He shivered, feeling naked and exposed under her gaze, and small, like a child.

"Such knowledge has broken those men lesser and greater than you or I." There was a warning in her voice, and Merlin, in all of his arrogance and foolishness, ignored it.

"I am not a man."

"And there you are wrong, or right depending on how you measure a man's worth."

"Is that your answer to my question?"

She sighed, and her eyes softened minutely. "You are someone who was born in war, and who lives and breathes it. You are a soldier, but a soldier with no commander is a dangerous one. In your loneliness, you have appointed yourself as the judge, jury, and executor, unfailing in the cruel punishments you have dealt to the innocent and guilty alike -"

"I have never _... hurt_ an innocent!" Merlin cried, a cold wind whooshing down the passageway, twisting and knotting Luna's dress.

"I suppose that depends on your definition, _doesn't it,"_ Luna panted, her eyes flashing in anger. " _Control yourself Emrys."_

Merlin stopped at the voice. The voice that –

"Luna?" He asked tentatively.

The girl blinked her hair in tangles around her face, her chest heaving. Then her eyes flew open and her pupils were wide and unseeing.

"I- I'm sorry." She said, speaking to herself. "I – I don't know what came over me."

Her voice was soft and scared, so unlike the tone she had taken with Merlin mere moments before.

"Are you okay Luna?"

She blinked again, and this time her eyes focused on him.

"Leave me."

Merlin reached out, still unsure of what was going on, only that the voice she had spoke in was so unlike her own, but that of another. An _other._ But she flinched away from his hands, and stumbled back, re-enacting the scene which had happened earlier in the kitchens.

Then a _crack!_ Followed by a cheery "Miss Lovegood?"

Dobby appeared, and handed her a flask containing the tea which apparently helped with her migraines. _Migraines._

Merlin froze for a second, putting the pieces together. The voice of the Triple Goddess was speaking to her, rebounding through her head. For anybody, even him, the experience would be painful enough, but to be young and mortal... Luna was young, younger than Merlin currently was, and her mind had not fully matured yet... She couldn't contain the power.

Whilst Merlin was in the middle of his revelation, Luna had accepted the offering from Dobby. Without looking back towards the Warlock, _t_ he girl turned, looking eerily like a spectre with her pale skin and modest silvery gown, and continued the walk to the Tower on her own, her bare feet making no noise against the floor.

Merlin and Dobby stood watching her go, the House Elf rocking on his heels the whole time. And when she had finally disappeared around the corner, he let out a way and swivelled, moving to bash his head on the stone wall.

"Dobby – _Dobby_ STOP!" Merlin commanded, struggling to hold the wiggling elf in his arms. "Why are you punishing yourself?"

The Elf twisted, to gaze up at the Warlock. His eyes were sad, and he cried out mournfully "Because I is a bad Elf and I _lies."_

Merlin frowned, and opened his mouth to command the Elf to tell him what in Camelot's name he was talking about, but he was too late, and with another _CRACK_ the Elf disappeared again back to the Kitchens. He made to move after him but couldn't –

Because a voice similar to the one that Luna was experiencing reverberated around his head, taking complete control of his body and forcing him to stay still.

 _Leave her, Emrys. She is not yet ready, and the Time had not yet come. Leave her, Emrys, in peace._

* * *

 **So that's it! A long one, which you all probably shall love. I shall update in the next two weeks, it is likely. Anyhow, have a lovely day!**


	11. Verbal Sparring

**So yes, I changed the title again. I was never entirely happy with it anyway, and I feel that the current title reflects closer to what I intended it to be. When I posted the last chapter, I also took down the A/N I left. Subsequently, my hit count went down and I only received two reviews, therefore;**

 **READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER BEFORE THIS ONE.**

 **Enjoy!**

 _In the Hands of a Prophesized Vice_

Chapter Ten – Verbal Sparring

The meeting at the Hogs Head came and went, and with it, the animosity he held against the Golden Trio, as he found out they were nicknamed. Whilst Harry was surprised to see that so many students had turned up, Merlin wasn't. Instead, he found it curious that those in the years above were willing to take instruction from the Boy Who Lived. That implied that Harry was better at DADA than them and whilst it was true he had had more real life experience, surely he did not know the advanced knowledge that the sixth and seventh years especially had. Still, it was heartening for the Warlock to see just how many children were happy to overthrow Umbridge.

"You do realise," Merlin commented after the fearsome Gryffindor Quidditch Captain who apparently went by Angelina stormed away, "this was probably what Umbridge intended to do."

"What d'you mean?"

In an unspoken agreement they all continued to their next lesson Potions, not wanting to risk the wrath of Snape, especially when it was still so early in the morning – for the students anyway, this was positively a day off for Merlin with a 9am start.

"Well the likelihood of Umbridge knowing what we're up to is slim, yes? If she did, we would all have already been questioned, or our rooms searched under the pretence of a warrant. So, whilst she could be planning ahead, it's far more likely she's just doing this to inconvenience you and incite you to the extent that inter-house relations sour."

"Angelina only mentioned the Slytherin team. Everybody knows we don't like those racists anyway." Harry pointed out.

"I shall bypass your statement regarding racists. They're just the ones you care about most," Merlin rebutted gently. "Whilst you're getting worked up about them, I wager Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw groups are being approved."

"Of _course_!" Hermione said excitedly with dawning realisation. "Divide and conquer – it's the oldest trick in the book!"

"But it's _Quidditch!"_ Ron exclaimed. "It's sacred!"

In unison, Hermione and Merlin rolled their eyes.

"Boys and their toys," Merlin murmured. Hermione laughed.

The mood soured as they descended into the dungeon, and the mirth in Hermione's eyes died completely as the whining voice of a blond Slytherin sounded, growing unfortunately louder as they approached Snape's classroom. Turning the corner, Draco Malfoy was standing just outside the Potions Room, waving an official looking piece of parchment and, to no-one's surprise – talking louder than necessary.

"Yeah. Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue playing straightaway. I went to ask her first thing this morning. Well, it was pretty automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well, he's always popping in and out of the Ministry... it'll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor are allowed to keep playing, won't it?"

"Don't rise," Hermione whispered imploring to Harry and Ron, who Merlin noticed were both watching the Slytherin, their faces set and fists clenched. "It's what he wants. He already has everything – don't make him have you too."

"I mean," Malfoy continued, raising his voice a little more, his grey eyes glittering malevolently in Merlin's general direction. "If it's a question of influence with the Ministry, then none of them have a chance. From what my father says, they've been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years... and as for Potter... my father says it's a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St Mungo's... apparently they've got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic."

"That's high praise, Draco."

Draco looked confused at Merlin's words, but pasted a sneer onto his face in preparation for his next retort.

"What are you talki-"

"You insinuated the Gryffindor Quidditch team consists solely of Harry and the Weasley family – presumably the twins as I know Ron is not a member. But haven't they won the Quidditch cup three times in the last four years?"

Draco's face, already pale, seemed to go white in anger, with dark red spots appearing on his cheeks. The sneer had faltered slightly.

"So tell me, Draco, how does one feel to be in a team beaten by only three players? Mayhaps if you spent less time consumed by jealously of the prowess of your opponents, and more time practising, you might be able to help your team hold your own."

The embarrassment that Draco had held was overcome by anger, which was no doubt spurned on by the Gryffindors laughing and jeering after Merlin had finished. Ron was smirking, the outrage of Draco's pointed words forgotten, and Harry was laughing with the others. Even Neville was smiling slightly, though he still seemed unusually tense. Dean was standing beside him, and as Draco opened his mouth again, he said mockingly under my breath:

"Just wait till my father hears about this!"

That set the Gryffindors off again, though Merlin was convinced he could see a few of the Slytherins cracking smiles too at the accurate, yet terrible depiction of the Slytherin. The boy in question was truly angry now, and he zeroed in on the boys standing in the line.

"I don't know what you're mocking me about, S'longbottom – least I have a father! Tell me – been to St Mungo's lately?" He made a grotesque face, his mouth sagging open and eyes rolling, in a poor caricature of the Gryffindor.

There was confusion at his words, but everybody was so weak from laughing so hard that none were quick enough, or strong enough to stop Neville as he roared, charging forward with clear intent to run the bully down and make him _hurt._

"Neville, _no!"_

Merlin leapt forward into action even as Hermione yelled, and was at Neville's idea few seconds later, who had just shoved Malfoy back. Seamus started forward, seizing the back of the boy's robes as Neville frantically flailed in a desperate attempt to get to Malfoy who was both shocked, yet satisfied at the unexpected outcome.

"Help me!" Seamus flung out towards the group at large. Harry and Ron hurried forward, seizing Neville's neck and arms respectively, the boy's face turning scarlet as they dragged him back to the line. Merlin stepped in-between the two, but whether he was going to resolve the situation or escalate it, he did not yet know. The way Neville had been acting –

"Not...funny...don't...Mungo's...show...him..."

The Gorilla Twins stepped forward as Neville's chocked words echoed down the corridor, flexing their impressive muscles and settling into a threatening posture, ready for a fight. The Warlock remained steadfast in his position however, unafraid of the two; he could kill them in a blink.

"You have one chance to apologise."

Unsurprisingly, Draco sneered. Merlin remained apathetic, however, knowing that it would be the child's reaction.

"Mother always told me to tell the truth."

"Then here is a truth for _you,_ Draco." Merlin stepped forward, smirking slightly when the Slytherin shrank back from him, unconsciously recognising the Warlock as a powerful enemy. " _My_ mother said that one reaps what one sows."

Merlin suddenly moved back, so he was just outside of the Gryffindor line, where Harry and Ron were _still_ struggling with Neville. He promptly went in front of the Clumsy Boy and also held his shoulders, so that with the combined strength of the three of them, Neville could not move any longer.

"Calm down Neville," Merlin urged.

The dungeon door opened and like an apparition, Snape appeared. His black eyes swept up the Gryffindor line to the point where Harry, Merlin and Ron were wrestling with Neville.

"Fighting, Potter, Weasley, Longbottom, Ambrosia?" Snap said in his cold voice. "Ten points from Gryffindor each. Release Longbottom, Potter, Weasley, Ambrosia or it shall be detention. Inside all of you."

Harry and Ron let go of Neville, who stood panting and glaring at him, with Merlin still holding on. "I had to stop you," Harry gasped, picking up his bag. "Crabbe and Goyle would've torn you apart."

"Neville."

The boy turned around. They stared at each other for a moment, a picture of contrast. One, a boy full of heat and anger and misery and rage, the other, an immortal empty of emotion, with only apathy reigning, and the feeling of intense cold.

Merlin inclined his head in acquiescence. "I understand."

Neville simply snorted. "No one can understand." He said, before turning and disappearing into the dungeon. After a moment, Merlin followed him, the both of them slipping in just after Dean and Seamus, with Snape apparently none the wiser.

* * *

Today, they were brewing Weedosoros, a poison which caused the seeds of doubt already planted in your mind to spout tenfold, often causing hallucinations and paranoia. Although the potion was fairly complicated, partly due to the brewing time to completion only being thirty one minutes and thirty two seconds precisely even though it contained many varied and fiddly steps, it was their double lesson of the week, and Snape had _kindly_ informed the class that he wanted a vial each from the students at the end of the second hour – meaning multiple attempts were acceptable – which was just as well, considering Merlin messed up his potion four times, only finishing with ten minutes to go.

Unsurprisingly however, Merlin's inherent talent for clumsiness struck, and as he was walking up to Snape's desk to deposit his vial, tripped on Parkinson's school bag which was sticking out unusually into the aisle. The girl swore at him as he fell onto her, the vial flying out of his hands and landing in Malfoy's cauldron which was situated next to it. Snape yelled for everybody to move, but he was unable to reach the affected area due to the bodies lying in the way. There was a massive BANG and screams from the surrounding students – the girl Merlin was currently half lying on the loudest. The Warlock was quick to cast the shield charm – just in time too, as seconds later sickly grey potion splattered against the shimmering dome, which held.

Merlin released the charm after twenty seconds had passed, and scrambled to his feet, offering a hand up to Parkinson. She scowled, and rejected the offer with a sniff, but the Warlock sensed the rebuttal wasn't as strong as it could have been. Brushing down his clothes, he looked to assess the damage.

An irate snow white ferret stared angrily at him. It gave out a high pitched squeal, the loud shriek belaying its small size and launched itself at the Warlock, who fell back, one again bringing Parkinson to the floor.

"What in Salaz- _DRACO?"_ She shrieked lunging up and over Merlin in order to grab the ferret who was determinedly attempting to scratch and bite whatever he could reach. This included his fellow Slytherin, who gave _another_ screech and instinctively ripped him off her. It was satisfying to see the boy go flying across the room, all the while going _"SccrrRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"_

Merlin couldn't help it. He cracked.

"Class _dismissed!"_ Snape snarled. "Parkinson, stop snivelling. If you're in that much pain, go to the Hospital Wing. Malfoy, stay _still –_ Nott, Zabini, take Malfoy to Pomfrey. The rest of you, give me your vials and then get _out._ Those that gain less than Exceeds Exceptions be warned. Class dismissed!"

Merlin turned to head back up to the classroom to bottle another vial to present before grabbing his things and leaving. Ahead, the Gryffindors were smiling, none more so broadly than Neville Longbottom himself, who beamed at the Warlock. Merlin grinned back, and winked, causing the boy to smile even wider, if it was possible.

"And where," Snape drawled, "Do you think you're going, Ambrosia?"

Merlin swivelled. "Well," He began pointing awkwardly back at his stuff, "I was just going to –"

"Stay behind, correct. Such _dazzling_ comprehension skills."

The class emptied out quickly, everybody loudly chatting about what had just occurred. Merlin stayed still during this – it was clear The Master wasn't going to allow him to pack away his things any time soon, nor give in his potion and collect a grade.

"I apologise for the accident, Professor." Merlin said, as he watched Snape slink around the classroom, in a seemingly random pattern, until he suddenly appeared right in front of his face moments later.

"We both know it was no accident. Confess, now."

"There is nothing to confess." Merlin replied calmly. "Everybody saw what happened – I tripped over Parkinson's bag and the vial slipped from my grasp."

A slick dark eyebrow rose.

"Do not try to be smart with me, _Ambrosia._ We both know that potion whilst that potion might be on the edge of your capabilities, you are proficient enough to brew it for definite on the second round, not the fourth."

"Everybody makes mistakes." Merlin shrugged. "I am human after all." His lips quirked up at that remark, humorous only to him. "Besides, I was occupied assisting Neville and accidently neglected my potion on both counts."

"Then your Uncle was clearly not as proficient a Potioneer as you make him out to be." However much Merlin wanted to retaliate, he did not let himself be bated by the slight, which was clearly the Slytherin's plan, instead enquiring for the reasoning behind the comment. "To change Malfoy's potion to that of an animal transfiguration, specifically one of a ferret, requires Dandelion root. An ingredient which I saw you take and apply to your potion. Confess, Mister Ambrosia, or are all Gryffindors cowards?"

"Are all Slytherins so cruel?" Merlin shot back. Snape's face darkened, but he ignored the warning signs and persisted. "You know Neville's temperament, and thus to react in the way that he did he _had_ to be goaded, by Malfoy no less, and to face taunts that were so vile that he lose his inner peace. Yet you punish _him._ The Head of the House of Slytherin, and yet you are not clever enough, or cunning enough, to catch the true perpetrator."

" _ENOUGH!"_ Snape roared.

Merlin stoutly ignored him. "There is _nothing_ to confess - I misread the board – the potion fumes distorted the writing and with the help of my dyslexia, I thought dandelion root was required. I later realised it was eye of newt."

Finally, Merlin thought privately to himself, the misdiagnosis of the disease was coming handy. He had begun to wonder if he would ever be able to use to support his misdeeds. Granted, he should feel remorse over the consistent lying, but it was justified by the clear fact that Snape was biased towards Malfoy, whether it due to his intense hatred of Neville, Gryffindor, or loyalty towards his own house. Yes, it should be acknowledged that if he truly was a man of great cunning and resourcefulness, there might be a method to the madness, but at this moment in time, Merlin didn't care, and he felt no shred of remorse for what he had done.

In fact, he felt rather proud.

Snape's face resembled thunder. And then, as ever a contradiction, said, ever so softly: "Detention, Mr Ambrosia, for showing disrespect and telling repeated falsehoods to a Professor."

Clearly, the Professor was as disbelieving as Merlin that he held the medical condition and truth be told, the Warlock couldn't blame him.

* * *

They were in Transfiguration when it happened. It was two days later, after the double lesson of Charms in which both Harry and Ron had gotten homework in practising ' _Silencio'_ and the subsequent break that followed. Merlin was sitting next to Neville near the front, waiting for the (also double) lesson to end so they could wolf down some food before they were going to escape to the library along with the trio to do the required research for the Care of Magical Creatures essay. Neville was both restrained in his mood and exuberant simultaneously, constantly code switching according to who he was talking to.

Their plans however were soon spoilt when the bell rang and McGonagall called out; "Mr Longbottom and Ambrosia, could you stay behind please?"

The others immediately looked to Merlin and he shrugged, a half smile grazing his lips. "Go on without us. Considering Ron's eating time, we'll easily be able to join you having food before you all leave for the library."

Almost sluggishly slow, they began to walk to the door, only speeding up when the Professor commented drily; "Your intents are admirable, but sometime this day would be suffice."

Unsurprisingly, they quickly disappeared after that.

Their Professor was silent for a moment as she studied the two of them, before directing her first words to Neville. "Do _not_ rise to the Slytherins, not matter how hard they push. You are stronger than them, thus you will behave as much. You will have detention with me tonight, writing ' _I must not fight in the corridors against Slytherins'_. Be here promptly at seven. You may go."

Neville nodded with his slightly chubby face constricted and pale. He reached the door, and the Professor of Transfiguration added softly; "And Neville?" The Gryffindor turned, puzzled. "If this _ever_ happens again, do not hesitate to tell me at once, and _I_ will deal with it."

Neville smiled shyly, before leaving Merlin alone with his House Mistress.

"I think you already know why you are here-" Merlin was silent, but he nodded his head in reply. McGonagall sighed and continued to talk.

"Not only did you join in the fighting in the corridor, you are also accused of misleading, misinforming and insulting a Professor. Is this true?"

"The accusations, yes. My definition of fighting is clearly different to Professor's Snape, as I would propose that simply standing in-between the two parties does not constitute as a violent act."

"And what about the argument(s) between you and Mister Malfoy?"

Merlin shrugged and gave a half smile. "Verbal sparring?"

McGonagall seemed unamused. "In both Professor Snape's and my own dictionary, sparring is a synonym for fighting, thus the accusation remains true."

Merlin sighed. "Professor, if I may speak candidly. Malfoy _deserved_ it. What he said was truly disgusting and a despicable thing to say. Whilst I might be in the wrong, I feel that my response was justified in the face of such..." He screwed his face up, "a cruel thing to do."

The Professor of Transfiguration and Gryffindor house Mistress gazed at Merlin for a moment, completely silent. Eventually though, she spoke.

"It was an admiral action you undertook, Mr Ambrosia. _But_ , your education has been affected by what occurred in the dungeons whether or not- "She continued, holding her hand up to halt Merlin's protests – "it was deliberate and that you already knew the course material. We still have a responsibility to test you, and to ensure correct practice occurs. Therefore, you will _also_ report for detention with me tonight at the same time as Mr Longbottom _and_ with Professor Snape as well. He had informed me that he will contact you with the date and times. You may go."

"Thank you Professor."

* * *

"And what do we have here?"

"I thought it was obvious; we're reading." The sarcastic reply the Warlock uttered was automatic – for what a _stupid_ question it was that had been uttered – yet he was not alerted to the foolhardiness of the action until he registered the stunned silence which followed his words.

"Thirty points from Gryffindor, Mr Ambrosia," Snape sneered. "It seems you have not yet learnt your lesson in respecting your superiors."

About to open his mouth to comment on that statement, he was silenced by a strong hard kick from Hermione who had seemed to predict the action. Therefore instead he was left floundering, his mouth open like an idiot.

The Potions Master continued a glint of amusement in his eyes as he looked down at Merlin. "For the insolence that you gave me yesterday, you will come to my Office at eight every night starting in two days time for a week. Is that understood, Mr Ambrosia?"

Merlin nodded again.

"I didn't hear you."

"Sir, _yes_ Sir." Merlin replied immediately, only saved by certain death with the fact that he doubted that Snape had heard him properly. But as he gazed into the eyes that were dark as night, his resolve faltered. It was only for a moment, but it seemed to give the Potion's Master satisfaction over the small victory.

"Remember to bring Dragon-hide gloves."

Snape exited the Library, not able to see Merlin's reaction to the last comment. The Ancient Warlock had blanched, and had gone extremely pale, his dark hair contrasting even more against his skin than usual.

"Myrddin," Harry asked worriedly as Snape's billowing cloak disappeared from their view. "Are you alright? Do you need to go to the Nurse?"

"I-I'm fine," Merlin replied weakly, waving the others concerns off, though not with the same absolute attitude that he usually adapted.

 _Dragon-Hide Gloves._

* * *

 **There you are. Apologies for not acknowledging and replying to all of your reviews and messages you have kindly left. For some reason, the PM function on my account isn't working. I've contacted FN so hopefully they will resolve it in time for the next round of communications.**


	12. Detention

**I apologise most profusely for the late posting of the chapter. University presented me with three projects and two essays, as well as a sixth month anniversary and a boyfriend to console. I sincerely hope this chapter makes up for the wait.**

 _In the Hands of a Prophesised Vice_

Chapter 11 – Detention

Detention with Snape was _definitely_ not planned to be on Merlin's agenda that week.

It was a fact Merlin reflected as he stood in front of the door to the Potion Master's Office, in the dark and dingy place that was known to others as Hogwarts' Dungeons, but to the Old Warlock was simply known as cold, and frightfully so, at that. Granted he _could_ easily warm it up with a snap of his fingers, but even with his track record of being lucky, he doubted he would be able to get away with it. Besides, it was likely that it was a calculated measure by the Potions Master himself in ordering to make his domain more foreboding, and Merlin was not one who was easily cowered.

The satchel slung around his shoulder swung as he raised his arm, and Merlin winced, his mouth forming a tense line. In it was the pair of dragon-hide gloves which had been requested and that he had borrowed from Ron. Granted, they were old and fraying, a hand-me-down like most of Ron's possessions in typical Weasley fashion, but they were still useable, and thus potent, as it were. The satchel was the furthest place he could put them away from his body without carrying them or destroying them.

Merlin _hated_ dragon-hide gloves.

For he _was_ a Dragon Lord, the last of his kind and Dragon Lords were _never_ meant to hurt their Brethren and only fought to protect them. Yes, the dragons that had died for their hide _weren't_ dragons of the Old Religion, but Merlin still had a connection to them. Granted, the current day breeds had evolved since the Arthurian Times – largely due to breeding with Wyverns - but they were still creatures of the Old Religion. All creatures of the Old Religion had magic flowing through their veins which nourished them, sustained their life force, and Merlin was no different. After all, he was the embodiment of the Old Religion, the only one of his kind. Magic _was_ him, essentially.

The only positive outcome of the _revolting_ objects was that at least they were not made out of the Old Dragons – Aithusa and Kiligarrah. For a start, Merlin knew (or rather, _hoped)_ that it would be extremely hard and near impossible to actually _capture_ the dragons, let alone kill them. Besides, he had the feeling that if they were in trouble, the Old Religion would warn him, and he would be able to hear their pleas.

But that was the only positive.

For Dragons were creatures of Magic, too, and not only that, but his kin. And that meant that Merlin could feel their Magic, practically _smell_ it, even though it was weak now that the Old Religion had practically faded from the world. Magic was in the blood which had stained the skin, in the hide which they had stripped off his brethren, and in the monstrosity they had fashioned.

And they had _violated_ it.

So shakily, wincing as the bag came into contact with his shirt and the tainted Magic slowly transmitting between the two pieces of cloth, he raised his hand to knock and hit the wood, almost timedly. Hardly daring to breathe, he waited for a few seconds.

Silence.

Merlin could feel his hope rising; Snape was _gone_! Maybe he was down in the Common Room, or terrorising students or speaking to the Dark Lord or exchanging gossip with Umbridge or plotting ways in which to catch out Harry or having a _bath_ –

"Enter."

Apparently terrorising students was one his agenda tonight, or at least put fear into the heart of _one_ of them.

But he walked in anyway.

More fool to him.

* * *

"Late, Ambrosia," Snape drawled from his position behind the desk in the corner of the room, not even bothering to look up to confirm his suspicions, so intent on his writing.

"I didn't know where your office was."

Merlin expected then and there for his detention to start, but it didn't. Instead, Snape kept on writing busily on the parchment, occasionally frowning, though no emotion showed in those deep, black eyes. Disconcerted, the Old Warlock looked away, and instead took in his surroundings, bored by Snape ignoring him.

It was a gloomy and dimly-lit room, matching well with Snape's outward appearance. The walls were dark, and the few candles there were furthered to gloom the room by casting long shadows. The walls had shelves on them that were lined with shelves of large glass jars filled with slimy, revolting things, such as bits of animals and plants, floating in potions of varying colours. In one little section where the shelving had stopped, a fireplace lay, though obviously it wasn't lit, and studying the grate, Merlin summarised that it hadn't been used for a _long_ time. In a corner, there was a cupboard and even from the distance that separated them, Merlin could _feel_ the powerful enchantment placed on the door. In front of the desk upon Snape sat behind, there was a table, and on top of it sat two boxes, emitting a horrific smell.

"I like what you've done with the place." Merlin offered, his nervousness causing the sharp tongue which put him into trouble in the first place being wielded, deciding to break the silence.

The response was immediate; Snape finished his scribbling (though with poise and elegance that surprised the Old Warlock) and stood up, coming to stand in front of the Student.

"You will separate the rotten Flobberworms from the others and put them into a separate box. They will be used for potion ingredients. Where are the gloves?"

Merlin winced involuntary. Snape frowned dangerously.

"You _did_ bring the dragon-hide gloves, Mr Ambrosia?"

"Here." Merlin said, trying hard not to show the disgust in his voice as he moved his shoulder so the bag moved against his body. Snape's mouth curled in cruel satisfaction.

"Begin."

It was a long and arduous process, and Merlin (albeit reluctantly) could see why the Potions Master had ordered him to take dragon-hide gloves. Granted, Dragon skin had properties; the toughness of the skin, the flexibility of the scales, but that was all due to the Magic in which it was embedded with.

Flobberworms were a particularly nasty type of creatures. They were slimy and disgusting and they _stank._ Literally, to the normal human, it would have your eyes watering, your lungs seized up and gasping for breath, but it didn't affect Merlin; he had grown up in the Dark Ages after all, an era not particularly known for its cleanliness. Additionally, the blood was acidic, and corroded your skin if you touched it, hence the Dragon-Hide gloves. But when the worms were _rotten_ the acidity was enhanced to such a degree that if you got a speck on your hands, you would be rushed to hospital. Yet, Merlin wasn't bothered about that, for physical pain was _nothing_ to what he had been through. If anything, on the rare occasions when the magic coursing through his veins didn't heal the wound inflicted, when the pain was to such a degree that he could feel it, it reminded him that he was still alive, that a slither of his self was still human.

Physical pain gave Merlin no fear, nor caution. The stench of Death and knowledge of good blood being split on the plains of an ugly battle were worse. _That_ was a pain that no massage could ever rub away.

So when Snape returned to his scribbling, Merlin didn't bother to put the gloves on, and began to separate the two, letting his mind wonder and his hands go on autopilot as he did so.

"Stop!"

The next thing Merlin knew, his body was moving, far, far away from the cauldron where the Flobberworms were kept, a rotten Worm dropping to the floor as Snape pushed him away from the cauldron.

"You stupid, _arrogant_ boy!" Snape shouted as he glanced down at Merlin and then away. "That much blood... Serious with much worse potential..."

He waved his wand and three vials detached themselves from the wall and sped over, Merlin recognising all of them; Blood Replenishing Potion, Burn Healing Paste and a Numbing Slave...

 _Oh_.

Merlin looked down at his hands and understood.

They were covered with blood. Literally, _covered._ Little cuts were visible where the teeth of the worms had nicked his skin, and burns were already blistering, bubbling, _twisting_ beneath his skin. He couldn't feel any of it of course, no pain whatsoever, but he could feel his magic flowing through his veins, rushing to converged to the wounds,, intent of its purpose to heal him.

But Merlin _couldn't_ allow that to happen. His hands would emit gold light, and his eyes would glow, and his cover would be discovered. And he couldn't allow it to happen... not _yet_ , anyway. So he stopped the magic from flowing down to his hands, with great effort, grunting as he did so. Snape eyed him however, with what might even have been worry, redoubling his efforts in siphoning the blood off his hands, revealing a scene much worse than what the Warlock had originally thought; the burns were crackers, and if it was any other situation, he would have been rather proud of them. Great large bubbles of skin were appearing and disintegrating and popping before your eyes, and although it appeared to be an excruciating canvas, there was beauty in the pain.

Snape glanced at Merlin, registering his interest in bloody mess. "Clearly numb from the pain indicating dangerous levels..." The Potions Master turned quickly, uncorking one of the vials with his wand. "Not enough time to strengthen the solutions... Pomfrey has them on hand... But not enough _time_..."

"You can combine the potions if you use four drops of dittany and a leaf of belladonna as a binding ingredient," Merlin offered helpfully as his eyes flashed gold. "I can whip one up in a jiffy if you need it."

Snape stared at him incredulously. "For one who has such an apparent extensive knowledge of healing, you are a remarkably dull creature for damaging your health to such an extent over not one foolish decision, but _two_."

"I rather think you're over reacting, actually," Merlin replied conversationally. "The blood has clotted, with most of it removed by your wand, thus there shall be less of a risk of contaminating the brew than you think, though of course I shall wash up before beginning. A to the other decision I understand that we shall quibble on the handling choice, but I have my reasons, so rather half a foolish decision, one thinks."

Snape snarled, incensed now. "Nobody heals from an injury that quickly."

"They do if they weren't as bad as it appeared!" Merlin combated cheerfully, waving his freshly glamoured hands at the Professor.

Snape snatched at them and held them still, bringing them up to his eyes. Merlin remained calm when he heard the whispered _"revealio"_ that followed, secure in the knowledge that no New Magic would be able to disrupt the Old Magic glamour he had cast, fuelled by the magic that he had been unable to siphon off the past few days.

The Master threw his hands away and scowled, leaning forward into Merlin's personal space, his glittering black obsidian eyes boring into Merlin's cobalt ones.

"I do not know how you did it, nor why you found it necessary, but I _will_ find out the reasoning for your careless actions, Ambrosia. Twenty points from Gryffindor for such thoughtless behaviour. Now get out of my sight."

Merlin stepped back, breathing heavily, though whether that was from the pain caused when Snape maliciously dug his fingers into his injured hand, or from the adrenaline that flooded his body he did not know.

"Of course, sir. Goodnight."

The Warlock turned and walked out the door, leaving the handle slick with sweat and blood behind him.

* * *

Merlin ran. Deep, _deep_ into the forest, until there was no light and everything seemed to be in perpetual gloom. He found himself in a beautiful clearing, and spinning around once, determined it was empty. It was there where he let go. His glamour fell, and the state of his hands were at last revealed. They were scarlet, blisters continuously forming and dying and rivulets of blood dripping down his palm. He watched curiously, impassively. Breathed in, the out, releasing his magic out into the world in one breath.

The effect was immediate; his hands glowed gold, so light and magnificent that it illuminated the clearing, so that it seemed as if it was the middle of the day, and not one and ten to the new day hour. When the light eventually faded, it left Merlin panting for breath, feeling almost weightless due to the removal of the pressure that had been building up inside him.

"Thank the Goddess I ran," He murmured to himself as he examined his hands. To his satisfaction, the burns had faded completely, with his hands almost returning to their normal, if calloused, self, with only a few deep cuts remaining. Still, with a simple healing charm, those would vanish too.

"Emrys," A voice greeted.

It turned out he wasn't alone after all.

The herd of unicorns quickly surrounded him, pressing their beautiful heads against him and whinnying softly. The Herd Leader let it happen for a moment, until the excitement had died down. With a nicker she ordered them to stop. She then joined the Warlock, standing to the left of him and slightly behind, so that her head was parallel with Merlin's body.

"Hello," Merlin whispered softly, a smile breaking out on his face. She nickered again, extending her head, her ears twitching. It was clear what she wanted him to do, but he pushed her away gently with his elbows, which had remained unaffected by that night's activities.

"I cannot – I still have Flobberworm juice on my hands, combined with the remnants of my magic. Let me purify myself before I touch you - I do not wish to hurt you."

She whinnied, the noise almost sounding like a laugh, before pressing her head into his hands before Merlin could stop her. The shockwave was palatable to him; he could _taste_ the spark on his tongue and the magic in the air. The golden glow passed onto her, and from her, to the rest of the Unicorns. He watched in horror, helpless in stopping the disaster.

"Fear not, Emrys. Your magic will rejuvenate them, sustaining them for a while."

"Greetings, Anhora." Merlin bowed to the shadows, unable to conjure up a convincing smile.

Slowly, in an almost ethereal fashion, the Guardian of the Unicorns stepped out of the shadows and approached him. A gentle smile adorned his visage, and he returned the bow, holding the pose for the length of time given to one who deserved far more respect than Merlin.

"It gladdens me to see thee, after all this time. From what Eternia has told me, you have recently joined their world once more, to protect the Chosen One."

"Yes, I have," Merlin acknowledged with a courteous nod of his head. Even after millennia had passed, he was still slightly in awe of the Guardian. For one to have been entrusted with the unicorns care, and to be a _man_ at that, meant that they were special indeed, far more than he himself was."Yet pray tell who Eternia is?"

Anhora didn't answer, instead, she did. The Herd Leader whickered softly, and trotted round, so she was standing in front of Merlin and beside Angora.

"Of course, I should have known," Merlin commented with a smile at seeing her. "After all, what other name would be suited to one who has lived longer than I?"

She tossed her head in seeming recognition, with perhaps a hint of pride. Anhora looked on, fondly at their interaction, but his regard morphed into worry and then recognition when Eternia harrumphed in his general direction.

"The antonym of longetivity is death. I have come here to give you wisdom and a warning, one you must heed, Emrys."

Merlin huffed. "Of course this wouldn't be a social call." He grumbled, ever so slightly annoyed. It was lonely being immortal, with those blessed to have a normal life becoming mundane to him. It would have been nice to have more acquaintances, more _friends,_ who knew who he was and would not judge him for it. To be able to interact and entertain those like him without the shadow of a threat hanging over them was a foolish wish, but a wish all the same.

"Something is approaching, Emrys. Hiding in the shadows, waiting for the time to strike like before. On the day when the light of dawn shall arrive bright and golden in nature, and Loyalty dies, three will come to call."

Merlin frowned in thought. He began to pace in front of the Guardian of the Unicorns, feeling the need to be active in the face of what would likely become a crisis. Anhora stood there, regal with his staff in his one hand and a hand on the Herd Leader, calmly surveying him.

"Do you know what's coming?"

"No. My Gift is limited in this time of non-believing. I did not forsee this. I know only what I have said."

"Death? Loyalty? The only people I associate with now are children – is it Neville? I will _not_ allow a child to die!"

"I fear I do not know," Anhora answered quietly, gravely. "I pray that shall not be the case."

"Well don't expect your prayers to be answered. I have been praying to _Her_ for over millennia for my King to return, and not _once_ has she answered. She could not even lower herself to even acknowledge me."

"You speak out of bitterness."

"I speak out of _truth!"_

Anhora levelled a heavy gaze onto the Warlock. "The Triple Goddess has her reasons, my friend. You need only remember thus: all is not as it seems."

Merlin snorted bitterly. "Is it ever?"

* * *

It was a half hearted knock that Merlin used to announce his presence to the Potions Master, one that was so soft it was almost impossible to hear, and yet the summons was announced straight away. He walked in, and shut the door behind him, making sure it latched.

"I should congratulate you. You are five seconds early. To whom do I owe your punctual presence to?"

It was fairly clear that the query was not supposed to be answered, but Merlin did so anyway, his guard down slightly due to being exhausted by the past few day's events, and the knowledge of what befell him that night did little to alleviate his discomfort.

"Hermione."

Snape's eyebrow rose. "Relying on a classmate to ensure your promptness? That suggests you care little about this... activity. Is it not up to your standards?"

"No," Merlin muttered underneath his breath, glaring angrily at the cursed gloves which he had thrown onto the table.

"Oh _dear,"_ Snape breathed delicately. "Still back chatting are we, Ambrosia?"

"No sir." The reply was meek, and dutiful, the tone calculated with precision.

"Then start, and this time, you _shall_ wear the gloves."

With one last venomous stare, Merlin dragged the gloves towards him, unable to contain his recoil when his hands were fully encompassed in the former flesh of his brethren. Snape smirked in satisfied response, before returning to the mountain of paperwork. Grading, Merlin presumed, before being torn away from his musings back to the sordid reality. He almost welcomed the toxic fumes that the Flobberworms presented. _Almost_.

For Merlin thought it was bad when his hands _touched_ the skin; but it was so much worse when he actually _wore_ them. His magic immediately reacted to the presence, to such an extent that he idly wondered if whilst he was sleeping, unaware of his surroundings, somebody clad him with dragon-skin as a joke, his magic would have reacted instinctively to try and heal the "dragon" – perhaps even creating a new life form in the process.

But he was not sleeping, and this was no joke.

He became aware of every single second that ticked by whilst he was sorting the Flobberworms. Of the lies and worlds that existed out of the confines of the sturdy wooden table and the three boxes lined up in front of him. It was always there, in the back of his mind, pressing down on him. A discomforting sensation; an itch which he could never quite scratch. The world became distorted, like he was lucid dreaming, except the excruciating seconds which ticked by told him he was not, and that he was sadly very much living in the present. It grew cold in the dungeon, and he began to shiver, casting so many glances over towards the still unused fireplace that the Potion Master noticed, slamming his quill down in frustration.

"And _what_ is so interesting about the fireplace," Snape hissed, "That has caused you to relent from your task?"

"It's c-c-cold. C-c-could you p-p-please l-light i-t-t?"

It was only when he spoke that Merlin's teeth started chattering, but now he couldn't stop. Snape stared at him, but when it seemed like the student wasn't going to be quietening down any time soon, he stood up and waved his wand, summoning some wood from a basket Merlin hadn't noticed previously in a dark and dusty corner. With another flick, the logs set alight, and moments later, a welcome wave of warmth washed over him. The Old Warlock groaned in relief, before turning back to his work, determined to succeed in his task by the end of the session in order to save himself from more hours of torture in the future.

It seemed to be hours later, when in reality it was only nine minutes and twenty here seconds (really he wasn't counting, he _wasn't_ ) when Snape threw down his quill again, massaging his temples.

"That is _enough,_ Ambrosia. If you cannot continue in silence, than you shall not continue at all. You are dismissed. The next time I see you, I expect you to be dressed _appropriately._ Do you understand?"

Merlin only nodded, before tearing off the gloves and stuffing them into the bag, moving towards the door as he did so. He left behind a sweaty imprint of his behind on the wooden stool, and the handle dripping.

* * *

"How was detention with S-S-S-Snape?" Neville stuttered as he wrote his lines.

Merlin chose his words carefully. "Not painful."

"Really?" Neville questioned, surprised. He went up a few notches, enough that McGonagall gazed at the disapprovingly from behind her Transfiguration Weekly Magazine which she was currently perusing. "I hate having detention with him. It's not the cleaning or the sorting of ingredients I mind – it's _him._ He terrifies me."

"He shouldn't."

"I know." The answer came quietly, plaintively, and for the subsequent minutes they wrote together in silence, the only sound in the room being the scratching of their quills on the parchment, and the Transfiguration Mistress occasionally turning a page in her book.

"If he taught another subject like Herbology - except perhaps not that because then he would ruin it too – but if he taught another subject, one which I was _better_ at, I wouldn't be so scared of him. But Potions is so dangerous, and I'm horrendous at it anyway, and my terror of him translates into mistakes which he ridicules and then I'm more nervous and terrified and –" Neville sighed mournfully. "It's a negative feedback loop, one that I can't break, will never break. And sometime I wonder why I ever bother trying – except my Gran is determined for me to gain a NEWT in it and I _can't_ let her down."

A page turned and quills scratched. Drawing his button down cardigan tighter over his already jumper clad body, Merlin considered what to say.

"The simple solution is _do not let_ him. Don't let him 'get' to you – is that how one says it? That's how Snape has power over you because in part you _give_ it to him. Granted, he's probably never going to like you, but since when has he liked any Gryffindor?"

Neville huffed a smile at that, and behind him, so did McGongall. She caught the Warlock's eye, and nodded approvingly, before returning to the publication as if the interaction had never happened. It was so smooth, Merlin wondered if it had.

"He likes you."

"He _tolerates_ me," Merlin corrected. "There's a difference. Honestly, if you saw how he treats me in detention, you would quickly find that thought dispelled."

"I thought you said that it wasn't painful?"

Merlin sighed. "There are many types of torture. Only the close minded would choose physical pain as the medium."

Neville remained unconvinced however, and eyed him worriedly. Against his wishes, the detention was continued in silence.

* * *

"What's wrong with you Mate? You look _awful_ -"

"Ronald! Manners," Hermione reprimanded, but the Ginger interrupted her.

"And you have hardly said a word today, even when Harry was being a prat."

"It's true," Harry joined in, seeing Hermione frown, unconvinced. "You've been missing meals, Myrddin, and are always late to bed."

"For I have detention with Snape," Merlin said patiently. "I cannot ask the Professor to let me leave early in order to catch up on sleep. I can rest after this week is over."

"Yet you can catch a cold?" Hermione asked pointedly.

"Autumn is turning to winter, and it's _Scotland._ Only the clueless would parade in few layers." He stared pointedly at Harry, who smiled and shrugged, happily clad in only a shirt, albeit a long sleeved one.

"It's fifteen degrees."

"Which is five degrees closer to freezing than twenty, and when in the dungeon, ten degrees."

Hermione remained unimpressed. Ron, however, cracked up.

"Always good for a laugh, you are mate." He said, slapping the Warlock on the back. The action didn't hurt however – there were too many insulating layers between them.

"Yes, well, if only Snape thought the same thing. Then I wouldn't have to sort out the Flobberworms using _dragon-hide_ gloves." He tried to shrug the gloom off. "Still, I cannot complain. By majority, Umbridge is worse."

"Still," Hermione interrupted, "You need to eat more. That's probably contributing to why you're so cold."

"She's right y'know. My mum would say you need fattening up."

Harry laughed. "Your mum thinks _everybody_ needs fattening up. I'm not complaining though – she's a great cook."

"It's decided then," the Witch said firmly, checking with her best friends who nodded encouragingly at her. "You're going to eat supper with us tonight Myrddin, and you will not leave until you have eaten what we think is enough."

"He's going to be there forever then if it's by Ron's standards," Harry muttered. Merlin laughed for the first time.

"That's the spirit!" The Young Witch said encouragingly.

* * *

The Golden Trio stuck by their word, Merlin reflected as he once more gazed at the now familiar wooden door that concealed the Potion's Master's study. He had not been "allowed" to leave the table until he had eaten the entire dinner with thrice helpings of dessert. His old servant self would have been sick from the quantity. His current self will be too, if he had to wear the damn gloves for long.

He didn't bother to knock; Snape knew he was coming and besides, he was in no mood for pleasantries tonight. Entering the room, he failed to stifle the groan at beholding four boxes on the table. Snape looked up and put down his quill, surveying Merlin who stood uncomfortably in the middle of the room, trying hard not to fidget as his satchel bounced against his body if he did so, and the overwhelming feeling of decay filled his nostrils.

"I did not know you regarded this office as your second home, Ambrosia." He said silkily.

"With the amount of time I have spent in here, how could I not?" Merlin gritted out. He walked over to the desk, dropping his bag down on the floor with an audible thump, the sound enhanced by the lack of scratching parchment. He turned, to spy Snape still looking at him.

"It was my wish that this... activity would have taught you respect. Yet with every minute you spend here, it becomes apparent it has not. It will be your hope that by the end of tonight, Ambrosia, you would have learnt your lesson." Merlin stayed silent, waiting until the Potions Master had had his say. "Although I am _sure_ that you will miss the company of Flobberworms." Snape's lips curved upwards in what could be described as a cruel smile, knowing full well how much Merlin hated his detentions. "Start."

Merlin sat down, and waited until Snape returned to marking. But the Potions Master didn't do so and with dread in the bottom of his stomach, the Ancient Warlock realised what it meant. And so slowly, so slow that every pore in his body had time to protest against his actions, he leant down and undid the clasp, before quickly taking out the dragon-hide gloves; so much that the momentum, combined with his seemingly permanently sweaty palms, almost made them fly.

And still, Snape stood there, watching him calmly with an unfathomable emotion in his eyes. Waiting.

So, Merlin put them on, and was not able to hide his horrified grimace when his hands made contact with the cursed material. Immediately, he had to fight not to retch, the nausea almost overpowering as his skin crawled. But still, the Professor eyed him, and however foolish it might be, Merlin was not one to back down from a challenge.

And so he began.

But this time, it was different. Time became meaningless whilst he was sorting the Flobberworms. Before it was like he was lucid dreaming, but now it was clear it was not a dream, but a nightmare, and the discomfort had manifested itself. Pain did that to you. It took and it took, and even when there was barely anything left, pain still found a way to steal the remnants of your inner peace from you.

Merlin tore the gloves off with a sickening gasp. His clothes were damp with sweat, even the outside layers, and his body was burning, even though it was cold. Was this what frostbite felt like? He lay there for a moment, letting his head rest against the coolness of the desk, trying to regain control of – of what he didn't know. The revelation scared him.

"Desist in your juvenile pranks. The detention has been ongoing for ten minutes. You need no break."

"Need a rest," Merlin gasped.

"Take one _after_ this detention has finished. This is not a playground where you can pick and choose what you want to do. Put the gloves on."

"Please," Merlin croaked, raising his head to look at the Potions Master. He could feel the tears sliding down his face, mingling with the seat, but he didn't bother to wipe them away. He was too weak, and he could feel his body shaking slightly as it tried to cleanse itself of the tainted magic from the gloves. He could feel it, _taste_ it – or was that bile rising from his stomach? "Don't make me wear them."

"Then you may have another fortnight of Detentions," Snape said coolly, returning to his marking. "It is of no consequence to me, as there is another two batches of Flobberworms that need sorting."

Merlin sat there, breathing hard, before groaning as he picked up the gloves and stuffed them back onto his hands. He only had around twenty Flobberworms left to sort, and it would be better to live through the torture now then having to go through two more boxes of it.

He never made it.

The pain was building inside of him, his body and his mind and his _magic_ rejecting the skin. It was making him ill, so _ill._ He could hardly seethe box in front of him, let alone sort the creatures. His eyes were swimming with tears, his head was pounding and his stomach was revolting against him. He knew he shouldn't have eaten the food the Golden Trio had made him consume earlier.

Merlin tried to stand up, but he lost his balance and managed to catch himself on the table, but all it meant was that his chest hit the gloves, and even through the multiple layers of clothes he was wearing, he reacted.

"Help me," Merlin whispered brokenly. " _Please."_

He tried to stand up again, and this time, he managed it. He stood there, swaying for a moment as he tried to see where Snape was, the only person that could help him now. His heart was pumping blood fast, trying to cope with his reaction, but all it succeeded was that more magic came into contact with the dragon-hide and more was tainted. Contaminated. His body was a war ground, one that he was losing.

"It hurts," The Immortal whimpered, tears pouring down his face. "It hurts _so much._ "

"Ambrosia, sit _down_."

Snape's voice sounded like it was in a fog. Merlin searched for him, but he couldn't see. There was white, white all around him, for he was lost _._ He had never felt anything like this – the Serket's sting didn't even come _close._ Was this what death felt like?

" _Arthur,"_ He croaked, foaming at the mouth. ""

"- _sit down._ " Snape shouted, and a few seconds later, Merlin felt his presence. And he felt the dragon-hide gloves on his face.

He was still screaming as he collapsed to the floor, unconscious, his eyes open wide, with only gold remaining. For the magic which he had been holding back in all of the detentions finally broke through his barriers, and roared as it was leased in a thunder wave, enveloping the room in gold.

" _HELP ME."_


	13. Fire

**Happy new year everybody!**

 **After three breakdowns within a week and two exams (don't you love university!) as well as various dramas, this has been churning in the back of my mind. Now I admit my intention was going to combine three chapters in one. However accidentally changing the ending of the last chapter, the plan derailed a tad, mainly because I accidentally wrote myself into a corner. How on earth was I going to explain Merlin's actions in the timeline I had already extensively plotted out? Thus, this was born. It is different in format, I admit, but I hope you like it.**

 **I have a query at the end which I would appreciate responses to, however, if you do not give feedback, then that is also perfectly acceptable.**

 **Also if anybody has any ideas for better chapter titles please hit me up because whilst checking over the rest of the story to clarify details I realised that all of them are pretty awful : )**

* * *

 _In the Hands of a Prophecised Vice_

Chapter Twelve -

"You are becoming a very popular boy, Mister –"

"Ambrosia, Professor."

It was a pointless question, one designed to make him feel like a student of no standing or consequence and to give the interrogator all the power. Unfortunately, the idea backfired, simply because Merlin wasn't intimated _in the slightest._

Umbridge gazed up at him from her seated position behind her desk, a classic manoeuvre calculated to maximise her apparent authority but only served to emphasise just how short and squat she was. Today the bow in her hair was swamp green, which clashed admirably with her dark pink robes and steel grey hair.

"For the past fortnight, you have been serving detention with Professor McGonagall in your free periods which have been extended since your punishment for fighting fellow students. And now Headmaster _Dumbledore,"_ she said the name with derision, "Is intervening in the disciplinary procedure."

She waited. Merlin shrugged. "I deserved it."

"Almost a month's worth?" She questioned, as she waved her wand, _accio-_ ing tea from her office next door. She offered him a teacup, and feeling pressurised, the Warlock took it. "Sugar?"

"One, please."

Umbridge turned around in her chair to open a draw in the cabinet situated behind her, blocking Merlin's view of his cup for a few precious moments. He smiled to himself at the obvious ploy. She swivelled back and gave the beverage to him. Keep his smile wide, Merlin drank the mixture, relishing in the knowledge that his suspicions were proved right by the distinct tingling in the alveolar: a well-known effect from the consumption of Veritaserum.

"It is a _very_ unusual occurrence for a Headmaster to do as such. Is there anything you wish to discuss with me?"

"You forgot the year's worth of detention with Snape," Merlin added helpfully, completing ignoring the latter half of her pompous speech, which she had no doubt spent some hours practising in the mirror.

Umbridge frowned, but whether it was directed at the Warlock's enthusiasm and/or Merlin's apparent ignorance and dismissal of the implication that Merlin was concocting something devious with the two former Gryffindors who were well-known critiques of the day's Ministry for believing the return of Voldemort, was unclear. Still, it was amusing to see her brain slowly whirr to life behind her piggy eyes.

"Professor Snape is a more... trustworthy person. The Ministry trusts him, and thus do I. Yet the Headmaster and your Head of House..." Umbridge shook her head in fake sorrow. "It is a shame that such brilliant minds have been corrupted by the lies of a teenager, and that ambition has clouded their judgement."

She shot a look at Merlin, but he kept his face deceptively blank, purposefully not reacting to her words. It was another test, he knew, for her to see where his loyalties, but she thought she was the master of manipulation in the room, where she was merely the student.

"I agree," Merlin nodded energetically. He couldn't help it: Veritaserum always made him slightly loopy. "Why be Heads of Gryffindor when they could have been Hufflepuffs? Now _that_ shows limited judgement." Umbridge surveyed him in what was likely to be a foreboding manner. It wasn't. Merlin continued, warming to his theme. "Why if _I_ was going to take over the world, I would do it via Puffs. Nobody expects those little blighters, but Bumblebees are the best there is. So loyal, so dedicated so hard working – it would be easy to overthrow _any_ government. And they're so friendly it'll all be done with a smile!"

"That's a foolhardy plan, Ambrosia. Now let us be serious. Are you _sure_ there is no illicit activity going on? _Anything_ at all?"

"Well I _did_ hear that Zabini stepped out with Bulstrade _whilst_ courting Greengrass. Such a despicable act!" Merlin shook his head. "Like mother like son, it appears."

Umbridge forced a smile. "I see. Twenty points from Gryffindor for spreading malicious gossip about a year mate."

"It's not gossip – it's _true!"_ Merlin cried.

Umbridge's smile flickered in annoyance and worry at the mention of truth – which was precisely why Merlin wielded it.

"If you were a Hufflepuff you would believe me," Merlin grumbled. Umbridge's lip curled upwards into a faint sneer.

"It seems you were sorted into the wrong House. I'm sure it was a disappointment for your parents."

Merlin shrugged. "I doubt it – they're dead. Besides they never attended Hogwarts."

It was a full-blown sneer now, one she didn't bother trying to hide.

"Is that so? You are free to go, Ambrosia. And remember; a true Hufflepuff would remember that loyalty to the Ministry is prevalent above all else."

Merlin nodded in exaggerated agreement and picked up his bad. However, due to the post-serum jitters he was accustomed to; his leg went into spasm, causing him to trip and fall into the desk. It shuddered, and the teapot tipped and fell, smashing onto the ground, liquid seeping into the carpet.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Professor!" He yelped, readying his wand. "Here let me clear up –"

"No-" Umbridge started but it was too late.

" _Evanesco_!" He cheerfully said, vanishing the contaminated liquid.

Umbridge snapped. "You _stupid i_ diot!" She made to tear her hair out but held herself together – barely. "Just go."

With a dejected posture, Merlin walked to the door, making sure to close the door quietly with only the _click_ to indicate the action. A moment of stillness, and then he swivelled, and ran. Four flights of stairs later; he spied the foreboding door and sprinted in, slamming the door hard shut behind him. Gasping, he hurriedly removed his cloak, only pausing to quickly wipe his brow clear of sweat.

"And why are you late, Mr Ambrosia?"

Merlin turned.

"I think Umbridge is onto us."

Snape's mouth thinned.

* * *

She called to him.

The Mistress sang in a low, comforting tone, the whispers soothing his pounding skull, her voice cool against his feverish brow. She was a polyglot, a speaker of all languages, and as she spoke to each emotion within the Warlock, reassuring every aspect of his self that he would be okay, and that he would survive to be born anew, Merlin wondered how he had not met her before. Why had he been warned away from this Mistress of Healing and Respite?

She was not wicked, nor was she cruel. She was just and fair. She delivered the truth, no matter how terrible it would be for it to be known. But above all, as Merlin lay in her loving embrace, as she soothed and lulled his damaged psyche, caused by an aeon of terror and loneliness, Merlin realised what she was above all else;

She was kind.

And that, in the end, was her downfall.

Because Merlin did not deserve kindness, nor the safety that was found within her arms. He did not deserve to feel at peace within himself, at long last.

The darkness called to him, and it was with great difficulty, that Merlin took a step back from the abyss, and ascended towards the light.

* * *

Merlin opened his eyes to hell. Such a contrast from the peaceful shadows he had bathed in only moments before. Now there was an inferno raging around him, the heat so intense that Merlin was already drenched in sweat. It was difficult to tell how long he had been out for - it was possible that he had died and already returned to the anguish that was the land of the living, but sitting up, he doubted it – he was not in nearly enough pain.

Pain.

Merlin flung his arms outward in horror, the move designed to whip the despicable gloves that he wore off his hands and into the flames, but they had already gone, only singed ashes remaining. The movement threw them into the air, and Merlin coughed as he inhaled them and the realisation that accompaniment it:

He had started the fire.

Which meant –

"Professor?"

He tried again, coughing profusely, staggering to an upright position via propping himself up against a burning bookcase. The flames licked his skin, but it was merely a tickle compared to the agony he had been in minutes? Hours? Ago. No; it must have been only seconds, though to view the scene now, it would seem so unlikely with the devastation that reigned. But Merlin knew himself well, and the immense power contained within, and it was extremely likely that indeed only a short time had passed since he had lost control.

"Professor Snape!" He coughed.

The only answer was the crackling of wood and the twinkling sounds of breaking glass caused by the potions igniting. The air shimmered with concoctions of every kind, light refracted tenfold by the fine shards of glass which were thrown up from the explosions.

The Goddess Incarnation: _the_ _potions_.

Quickly, Merlin burst into action, dismissing the Professor for now. Whilst it seemed like a callous action to take, the safety of a school full of children took priority, over one man (who seemed to have suspiciously strong connections to the Dark, including a tainted aura).

" _Scildan!"_ He yelled, scaling the burning bookcase in order to be in site of the Potion Master's private store cupboard. There was an inaudible _thrum_ as his magic escaped, and Merlin sagged as his strength weakened significantly. But he continued to anxiously survey the scene anyway to check –

And _there!_ The swirl of a treacherous vortex of glass and potions of all nature as all air was sucked out of the air bubbled he had just encased the store cupboard in, where the rarest and most dangerous (and thus valuable) potions were kept. The air became denser and harder to breathe as the concentration of potion and glass and ash increased the contaminated air now much more noticeable to the (normal) naked eye as it flattened, pulsated and bloomed against the shield. The potions began to catch alight, causing a conflagration of colour as the concoctions burned.

If it was another time and place, Merlin would have appreciated the beauty of the homemade fireworks, but sadly 'twas not to be. For now that was sorted, he was able to afford another few precious seconds to look for the Potions Master. Even with his higher vantage point, he was unable to see the dour man, though there was an unusual amount of debris concentrated on a patch of floor two meters away, which was large enough to conceal – or bury, the man. Almost absentmindedly, he thrust his hand out and away from the body, extending it in the direction of the debris in order to lift it up slightly. Regardless of if the man was dead or alive; Merlin could at least extend the courtesy that he would not be discovered crushed and mangled beyond recognition.

Now to concentrate on the world beyond the small enclosed room. Thankfully, due to the Snape's apparent aversion to sunlight and possibly fresh air, there were no windows into the dark space – which was precisely why the Potions Master taught and worked in the dungeons. Sometimes, Merlin idly wondered, people could be so willfully ignorant if it suited them. Still however, there was the matter of the corridor outside the room, and the rooms beyond, which, whilst were not an apparent problem due to being Potions classroom, became more of an issue when Merlin become conscious that he couldn't actually remember which direction the Slytherin Common Rooms were, and the bigger concern of its proximity.

Concentrating, he closed his eyes, and regulate his breathing – which even for a mortal was hard, but for a sensitive immortal who was breathing glass was to put it simply _not nice –_ and once the picture was perfect within his mind's eye, unleashed his vision upon the world, aided with the Old Tongue;

"Aheardung hwa æalá!"

Without stopping to see if the illusion had taken affect – he assumed so due to the further depletion of his energy due to his magic draining – Merlin quickly hurried onto the final step of his (immediate) plan, encouraged by the creaking of the bookcase he was perched on, as well as suspicious groaning sounds from the surrounding site as the blaze sapped away at Hogwarts' strength. Bless her, she was doing her best to contain the damage, but it was clear that with the aid of the magic found in the potions, the fire had enough energy to tear its way through the walls, as it feasted on the bones of the school.

But Merlin had spent too long prolonging his next action, and it was with a tremble that the bookcase buckled as part of the ceiling caved in, throwing Merlin off. Deciding to use his position to his advantage, Merlin focused on a complex incantation to douse the fires, except that none of the more complex spells was coming to mind.

His eyes glowing gold, he bellowed _"Wæter!"_ and slammed his fist into the stone floor as he landed, flattening his palms as he did so. The ground bubbled, and pulsated, before letting out a shuddering roar as water forced its way up from below.

Right into a _very_ irate Potion Master's face.

* * *

"How is he?"

"I've never seen anything like it... It's like he's in a coma. I would send him to St Mungo's but with what Severus has said, what we've _seen_ \- I don't think it's safe there. Not now, in this particular political climate. The poor boy. I'm doing my best but I'm unfamiliar with you know," Madame Pomfrey's voice lowered, " _his_ kind."

Merlin's blood ran cold. He tensed his arms and balled his fits, careful not to let on to the Professors that he was awake. He pulled slightly: no manacles. Interesting; they were well within their rights to. It was pretty common to cuff a magical child who was prone to outbursts in order to be able to treat them safely. And with who he was, _what_ he was, it would be dangerous not to. Still, he decided to continue sleeping, in order to gain a better idea of what was going on, and create a plan from there.

"A great deal of energy was consumed; beyond that of an average adult, let alone that of a child. It is only natural, Poppy, that his body has reacted in such a way."

"But for three days, Albus?" The poor Nurse was stressed, and it manifested in her voice via the high pitched tone, and loudness of her words. "He alternates between being ice-cold and feverish, to sweating and boiling within seconds. All food I bring to him combust, and all liquids evaporate. He frequently bleeds, even though there are no wounds, and what's worse is that it is not crimson – it's _black,_ as if it's gone rancid. It's a struggle finding an explanation that will satisfy his friends, as I'm operating under the assumption they don't know, but what plausible reason could I offer? He is not dying, yet death is the most reasonable end to this cause."

"Calm down, Poppy." McGonagall's voice was tender, albeit firm. "We were lucky that Miss Lovegood managed to notify us of the situation so quickly, though how she knew is quite a different matter. The illusion in the corridor... the compulsion to turn away... only she remained unaffected, though how I do not know. We must be glad that we got there when we did. It seems in his efforts to douse the fire, Mister Ambrosia forgot about the scalding steam that would be produced."

A knock sounded at the door, and clipped footsteps led away from Merlin, presumably towards the door. The squeak of the hinges and then -"

"Miss Lovegood."

"Hello Madame Pomfrey. May I come in?"

"If you're here to see Mister Ambrosia I'm afraid that he's still sleeping."

A tinkling laugh. "Just because he has his eyes closed doesn't mean that he is lost to the land of dreams, Madame."

The Nurse's voice was firm this time, as if she was offended by the insinuation that she could not tell between the different states of consciousness. "I am afraid –"

"No you're not. He is."

"Miss Lovegood –"

"Come on in, dear." Dumbledore interrupted the Nurse.

A huff, and then light, dainty steps sounded as Luna trotted in. "Thank you, Headmaster," She said, the airy smile clear in her voice. A door was closed – presumably the one to the Hosphital Wing, and again, the sound of footfall, Madame Pomfrey's mutterings about privileged Headmasters taking over her Wing fading.

"Now, what was it you wished to accomplish here?" The Headmaster's voice was kind as he spoke, and gentle.

"I was told to pass on a message to Myrddin, and to complete a task. It seemed... urgent." She frowned, her usual sonorous voice slightly dull.

Merlin had never met anyone whose facial expressions were so prevalent in their voice, but then again, Luna was many things. He panicked. His breathing grew faster in response as his mind whirled at the connotations of the Ravenclaw's visit. The last he had spoken to the girl, the Triple Goddess had advised him to let her be. Was that period of no contact now at an end?

"And what was the message?"

"That the light of the day shall arrive with gold."

Merlin's breath hitched.

" _...the light of the day shall arrive bright and golden..."_

Anhora had said that to him, when Merlin had met him in the forest. Did the Triple Goddess grant him the vision, and he in turn grace Luna the honour of his audience in order to pass on the message and to assign her the task, recognising her potential in the Old Arts? But no, he had said that he had not been graced with his Sight. Then Luna -

McGonagall interceded, not knowing the enormity of the situation. "Indeed." Her tone showed her disapproval, but Luna ignored her, instead flouncing towards Merlin, her dainty footsteps becoming louder.

The smile was audible in her voice as she said; "I may be many things, but I am no fool. I know you're awake."

Merlin opened his eyes and mock glared at her. "You blew my cover."

She laughed, and held out her hand. 'Twas dainty, like her feet, and seemed far too fragile to be clasped between Merlin's own hands, and was clearly an offer for him to use to help sitting up., but that was what they did anyway. It was becoming increasingly clear, Merlin found, that her delicacy hid a hidden strength. She squeezed his hand, and though no words were spoken, the Warlock heard them anyway;

 _I'm sorry, but it had to be done. There is no need to feel afraid._

Merlin swallowed heavily, before squeezing back.

 _I forgive you._

"Madame Pomfrey," The Headmaster summoned, appearing at the foot of the bed Merlin resided in (he was indeed in the Hospital Wing) with the Deputy alongside him. "Your patient has been revived."

The Nurse gave a loud cry and then hurried out of her office and into the wing.

"Thank goodness for that!" She exclaimed, whipping out her wand. "You've been having us all in a bit of a state, Mister Ambrosia. Pulling a stunt like that –it's a wonder you only received first degree burns, and not worse, what with the state of the room. And don't worry dear," She added, seeing Merlin's automatically look down at his torso to see if the burns remained, "I had them all cleaned up and healed in a jiffy. Now, hold still a moment, and let me just perform a few diagnostic spells on you, okay?"

She smiled kindly at him, and then began. Streams of information appeared around the Warlock, which only she and him privy to the knowledge they contained. Auras surrounded him, flashing different colours as they gave the Nurse feedback.

"And how long have you been playing sleeping lions for?" McGonagall was unnaturally sharp, and Merlin cringed slightly in response.

"Long enough," He replied evasively, hissing as Madame Pomfrey almost poked him in the eye with her wand.

"Keep _still!"_ She reprimanded him.

"Why did you not rise sooner?"

Merlin was silent, and that seemed to be all the answer they needed. Madame Pomfrey's spell casting stilled and instead choosing to fuss with the covers, constantly folding and smoothing those down in an effort to be unobtrusively busy.

"She was right; were afraid." McGonagall breathed. Her gaze grew heavier, and although the Warlock avoided all of their eyes, he knew it was due to pity. "We would not have hurt you."

"You did not shackle me."

Madame Pomfrey grew indignant then. "We are not in the twelfth century any longer, Ambrosia! To think we would let such a barbaric practice occur at Hogwarts – you should be ashamed of yourself!"

"Oh." He had forgotten that small fact. Time periods were so _difficult_ to manage – just when you had adjusted to the customs and practices; they were demolished and named as barbaric. Yet, he remained steadfast, in order not to lose face. "And how was I supposed to know? You said it yourself; the Ministry has an agenda, one I do not comply with."

There was quiet then at the reminder of the Ministry, who had issued a decree well over a century ago that all of those who still wielded Old Magic, and the variations thereon – thought of as Druids in the modern world, though Merlin could lecture for hours on how they were two distinct peoples – were required to register with the Ministry and be (forcibly) relocated to an Ministry approved (rural) area in order to "protect" them, but in reality force them to work in the Ministry's greenhouses in order to be granted special status and allowance – amenities that were rare in other countries, where they had been forcibly persecuted.

The hush was broken by a bang as the doors were flung open and Snape storming inside.

"What, in Salazar's name –"

The Head of Gryffindor signed, rubbing her temples as Dumbledore said cheerfully; "Ah, glad you could make it, Severus."

"_ did you think you were _doing_ Ambrosia –"

"Professor please – lower your voice –"

Whilst Snape ranted, Merlin turned him out and turned to the petite girl beside him, who was still holding his hand. Letting go of her, he said quietly, not wanting the other adults to hear;

"You can go, you know. You've completed what you were told to do."

Luna levelled her stare at him. "I know. But I need to know what version of the answer you call truth shall be. It's important you see- that's what she said."

Merlin's stomach churned uncomfortably, and hoped the child could not sense his unease. Why on earth would the Goddess care about what fable he fed the Professors? She had no interest in mere mortals, and whilst Luna and Merlin fell under her reign and were expected to sing he praises, they were not required to tell the truth at all times and at all costs. So why?

"Besides," Luna added cheerfully, "It'll be funny. Look at Professor Snape – he's turning purple already. It suits him, don't you think?"

Merlin nodded, "Indeed it does."

Snape snarled, finally taking a breath and apparently overhearing the latter half of the conversation. "I am only purple, Miss Lovegood, because I have had to spend the last few days brewing many potions to restock my store cupboard because _somebody,"_ he turned to glare at Merlin, "Set them on fire. Care to explain yourself, Ambrosia, if that even _is_ your name!"

"SEVERUS SNAPE, YOU SHALL BE QUIET THIS INSTANCE!"

The dour man face grew even sourer, if it was possible, but at McGonagall's intervention, he reluctantly grew quiet.

"Now," The Deputy said, breathing heavily, "I think we all deserve answers. However, we will ask and receive them in a _civilised fashion._ Is that clear!"

It was almost as if Snape had reverted back to being a moody schoolboy, the way he reacted to the Matron's statement. He seemed to cower slightly, and some of the venom contained within drained. Still, the anger had not quenched, Merlin could tell that much, and likely wouldn't for some time.

"Thank you, Minerva. Although Severus wielded his chosen words in quite the wrong manner, his intent, and thus mine are true." Albus Dumbledore fixed Merlin with a piercing ice blue stare, the gaze seemingly seeing into his very soul. "Are you on the side of the light, Mister Ambrosia?"

"Yes."

"Then there are no more answers needed." Dumbledore turned, as if to go, unheeding of Snape's spluttering and McGonagall's frowns.

"Why?"

A holophrastic answer, plaintively spoken. It yielded a vulnerability that Merlin had not meant to be revealed, a suspicion borne from millennia of backstabbing, truth taking and lies. What sane man would stop now when the answers could be taken easily from him? He was still weak, and it showed.

"I understand your fear, even if I wish it did not exist. Therefore, I know it would be cruel of us to demand more than you are willing to give."

As if the matter was over, he moved towards the door. And Merlin cursed himself for his foolhardiness and trusting nature, falling into the trap the Headmaster had so easily laid out for him to activate. Such a simple, kind gesture. Such a show of trust. One given freely, without expectation, without reward. Was it so wrong of him to still believe in it, after all this time?

"I'm a druid!" He called out. His voice was high pitched and sounded wrong to his ears, but it rang out strong and true.

Dumbledore turned, his eyes gleaming in satisfaction that was gone in a flash.

* * *

" **Aheardung hwa** **æalá!" – Become what I see**

 **The end of the chapter, and thus my query, and perhaps the beginning of something bigger.**

 **As some of you may know or have come to realise, I study linguistics at university – the science and art of speech, if you will, some of which is shown in this story via the use of language Merlin uses, as well as the introduction of his apparent dyslexia etc. Anyway, I have always been interested in the publishing industry, and whilst it would be amazing to write and create new worlds, I am also interested in the publishing side of it, specifically (copy) editoring, etc.**

 **It has been suggested by several friends and publishing houses that I run a blog. As readers, and many of you aspiring writers yourself (whether of fanfiction or otherwise) I was wondering if any of you would read a blog dedicated to how linguistics could be used in everyday life, but specifically aimed at writers. It would address;**

 **The difference between American and British English (and is it worth being published in both)**

 **Recognised ways of spell checking and grammar etc.**

 **How bilingual and speakers of English as a second/foreign language would actually speak like**

 **The process child language develops so you could write child characters accurately,**

 **How new dialects, accents, and languages are created and typical features,**

 **Typical features of accents (Welsh, Scottish and Irish for instance)**

 **How strokes affect your language,**

 **Features of deaf language**

 **The art of having a conversation and other "featurettes"**

 **I am unsure whether this would have a readership. I am not asking you to commit, or ever read it (I haven't even decided on whether I would do it yet!) but I was merely curious as to your opinions.**

 **As ever, I hope you all have a lovely week. Until next time!**


	14. Druid Affiliation

**Hello. I apologise for this being so late and believe me it was more frustrating for me than you. I was at the stage of checking through this chapter before posting it when a flatmate knocked water onto my laptop, which made a lovely fizzle noise as the screen went black.**

 **In other news, my blog is now up and running! I've only managed to do one post because again – water – but that's still better than nothing. Thank you for all of you who expressed an interest. The first is a post on how to write a Scottish accent and key features of it called "a wee Scottish introduction" : )**

* * *

 _In the Hands of a Prophecised Vice_

Chapter Thirteen – Druid Affiliation

There was a gasp, and Madame Pomfrey's hand flew to her chest, her face pale. There was a shimmering to her eyes, a glistening that required the presence of tears, but Merlin rejected that suspicion; for why would she shed a tear for someone like him?

Professor McGonagall was also taken aback at the verbalised confirmation of his special status, but she rallied herself admirably well. "Before we start, Filius and Pomona should be summoned." She turned to check whether the Headmaster agreed with her, before sending off two Patronus' with a flick of her wrist. Resuming her original position, she said in a tone meant to be comforting: "Don't worry Mister Ambrosia, they shall not judge. No more of the faculty shall be made aware either: only the six of us shall be aware of your..." She struggled to think of the right term.

"Affiliation?" Luna suggested. McGonagall blinked.

"Yes, quite. Your _affiliation."_ There was an extra emphasis on the word, and if it had been another student saying the phrase, Merlin would have expected it to be accompanied by an exaggerated wink and a slight nudge.

There was an awkward silence as they wait, broken only by Luna who swayed slightly, humming to herself.

"Miss Lovegood, kindly desist from your inane actions. Your presence is not required here anymore – though indeed whether you were needed in the first place is up for debate. Return to your Common Room. It is late."

Luna blinked at the Potions Professor solemnly. "I disagree, on all counts Professor, but if it will improve your countenance, I shall gladly cease my humming."

Pomfrey coughed, raising her hand to cover her mouth, whilst Dumbledore's eyes twinkled even more, if possible. Snape frowned, then sneered, and was just about to set upon the girl when the doors opened, two more Professors hurrying in.

"What's this about – oh you're up and about, Myrddin!" The Head of Hufflepuff was jolly, her jovial presence alleviating some of the tension in the room. "We were getting quite worried!"

"Indeed we were." Flitwick peered at him, searching for something Merlin could not help him find. "To what do we owe the pleasure of this meeting, Mister Ambrosia?"

"You found out about my heritage. You know I am a Druid. There are questions I henceforth am required to answer, as there are requests that shall be made." Flitwick lit up, practically vibrating with enthusiasm and excitement that such a session shall occur, and the knowledge that he would learn. It made Merlin smile.

"Very well. We are all here, thus the opportunity to learn shall begin. To clarify; you shall _not_ be reported to the Ministry. With that in mind, I think it shall be best if you could explain to us your heritage in more detail, Myrddin. We have little knowledge about your people, and whilst this is due to short-sightedness, it has also become a hindrance to your well being and thus education, which is our primary concern."

They were nods and mutters of agreement – to be precise nearly everybody gave (positive) agreement. Snape simply scowled, but Merlin took that as a yes anyway.

"First and foremost: desist from your stereotypes of whom and what Druids are. Often, I have found, they are people playing dress-up, with little to no wielding of magic. They rely intensely on nature, to the extent that it is dangerous for them, and worship the Celtic pantheon of Gods and Goddesses. _This is not true."_ As Merlin warmed up to his topic, his body language opened up, and he began to gesticulate slightly. "Yes, we did build Stonehenge, but it was not as a temple to these "Gods". Instead, it is meant as a monument to our fallen brethren, who departed into Avalon well before their time. The site was formerly a famous village with the trysts and trials of their inhabitants and rulers committed to the mortal memories of men for eternity."

Of course, Merlin knew the village in question. How could he not? 'Twas his very own, where he had been born and raised. Obviously, in his youth, he had been the only one with magic there, but when Guinevere had been "presented" the village as a gift after Merlin's secret was no more and magic had been more... respected ad proactive, Druids had begun to gather there, and other magic users joined once word spread: that it had been the (former) residence of the Great Emrys and that it was _saturated_ with his magic.

"We only have one Higher Entity – The Triple Goddess. Whilst we do wield Celtic Magic, we are not limited; 'tis only a footstep in the greater path of life. Celtic Magic is a variant of what the Originals used – Old Magic – and the magic that you use hence, New Magic, is a weaker variant still."

"You are insinuating that you wield more power than those who have trained for decades in their respective fields." Flitwick pointed out, though there was no malice in his tone, simply curiosity. "Some might call that narcissism."

Merlin sighed.

"One might also name it truth. The strain you wield is not those of children of itself, but in comparison to Old Magic, it is the strength of a babe beside the might of a giant. It is the most ancient magic, true magic. The Old Religion is the power of Gaia herself – that's why the Ministry is so intent on its program. 'Tis the essence which binds all things together. It is all about balance, the balance between Good and Evil, Light and Dark, Love and Hate and ultimately, Life and Death. It flows in all of us."

McGonagall was sceptical, but hid it well, instead inquiring: "And might one learn this power?"

"The Old Religion is not something you can learn. Either it's a part of you or it isn't," Merlin replied, echoing the words that his Father had said to him all those years ago. He grew melancholic as he continued, his sadness infusing the words he spoke. "Though of course, it was all difference once, before, when it was the only magic. Then, it was accessible to all." He saw the bewildered expression on their faces and decided to elaborate.

"In the time of the believers, there was no need for the wand, the staff, or the ring to harness thy magic. After the passing of the Once and Future King, the Old Religion faded. The Golden Age had vanished and with it, came the decline of magic, even as it flourished anew. In the King's rule, there were Sorcerers who used objects to channel their power, but the practice became more pronounced as generations passed until the Old Magic was all but forgotten to the people, only cherished by those who were blessed and cursed to remember."

He blinked as he thought of Gilli, the Sorcerer with his father's ring. Had he known, Merlin wondered, that all magic would eventually be wielded as he wielded it? Would he have felt acceptance for his weak ability to be celebrated as strength? Or would he feel only pain, as Merlin did, for remembering that it was not true magic, merely a shade?

"Like you," Professor Sprout breathed.

"Yes, like me," Merlin agreed.

Like Luna – perhaps.

And like Morgana.

* * *

"If Druids are so "perceptive to nature" then why has the water level of the Black Lake dropped drastically?" Snape's voice was slippery smooth, coated in sarcasm and disdain.

"There was a fire. It needed to be extinguished."

"My office is _soaked!"_ Snape hissed.

"Would it be more to your taste if I were to set another fire to remedy that?" Merlin shot back indignant. Luna choked back a laugh, seemingly enjoying the quarrelling immensely. Snape's mouth snapped shut with an audible _click,_ probably due to the stupidity of the Warlock's answer. No retort was offered. Merlin considered that a clear win.

"But the lake was affected? Why was the water not simply conjured?" Flitwick pressed, eager to know more.

"I panicked. Besides, from what little I remember of the events now, I doubt I could have summoned enough water to quench flames of that magnitude – whilst there were potions in the air, there was not enough for me to condense and direct at the fire. Thus, I called it from the earth, and she answered me. I needed a large volume, and so to avoid completely draining the land and damaging all of the foliage, I siphoned some off the lake. Or at least," Merlin frowned, "I assume so. I wasn't conscious of what I was doing at the time, though I would be normally. The heat of the moment, you know."

Luna laughed this time, at his pun – the only one to do so. Snape glared at her, but she continued merrily, undeterred.

"Your connection to nature," Madame Pomfrey spoke for the first time. "Is that the reason for the reaction to the Dragon-Hide gloves?"

Merlin shrugged. "A familial proclivity. Like eczema, but of the _magical_ variety."

Madame Pomfrey was aghast. "You should have said something!"

"I spoke." Merlin pointed at Snape. "He just refused to listen."

The Nurse glowered at the Potions Master, who glowered back, refusing to be cowered.

"And so this... sensitivity," McGonagall continued, struggling to make sense of it all – though it wasn't her fault, Merlin was being annoyingly vague – "caused you to have a reaction so severe, that you blew up, in effect?"

"Well, it appears that way, yes. I've never had to wear them before you see – the suffering, the agony in every stitch." Merlin shook his head, nauseated. "I do not understand why humans can be so cruel."

"Not only does he think he has special powers he's also a _vegan."_ Snape sounded repulsed.

"No, I simply have more empathy than thrice of thine could ever envisage."

"That is _enough!"_ McGonagall commanded. The two glared at each other but subsided, only grumbling slightly to themselves.

"Mr Ambrosia," Dumbledore started gravely, "I have a question, if I may?"

Merlin nodded and gestured for the Headmaster to continue, with unease building in the bottom of his stomach. He had a feeling that he knew what the Former Head of Gryffindor was going to ask: with the gleam in his eyes and the way he had so obviously played him earlier, it was clear he was scheming how to mine Merlin for information whilst he was still acceptable able to, under the pretence of learning more about him in order to see to his "special needs".

Merlin snorted: at least he would actually have some now, compared to the disease he was apparently infected by.

"At the start of the year, the Sorting Hat recited a Prophecy. A Prophecy about a Fifth Founder, a Protector guarding the school against evil. Do you know who he is?"

" _He taught the four new Founders,_

 _Of Magic both New and Old,_

 _And watched as they completed tasks,_

 _With eyes that glowed hot Gold,"_ Luna helpfully quoted without bothering to take a breath.

"Exactly, Miss Lovegood, I could not have remembered it better," Dumbledore congratulated her, causing the Ravenclaw to stare at him quizzically.

"Really? I find prophecies very easy to remember – it's the nargles you see."

Merlin gazed at the student in alarm at that, but his attention was ripped away as the Potion Master spoke, reminding him about the delicate question he had been posed. His mind raced, but he could no longer remember the contingency plans he had thought of when the situation arose, as it had inevitably done. What could he say? That the Fifth Founder was _him?_ That no, he wasn't fifteen years old, more like fifteen _hundred_ years old? That he wasn't a Druid but that he was _the_ Druid? That he was Merlin?

No.

"With that description, he is most definitely a Druid," Merlin admitted. "In fact, he's a very famous one – I _think._ I'll have to check our archives though."

"Our?" Sprout picked up instantly, "I thought you said you are alone?"

"I am," Merlin confirmed softly, his heart breaking as he said the words. "But I wasn't always. We wrote down our stories, in order to never forget. I will find the Protector there."

" _You think you have suffered?_

 _You think you know all pain?_

 _If you took on this man's scars_

 _You will never, ever stay sane,"_ Luna whispered softly to herself. She turned her head, to gaze falling behind the Warlock. There was a _whoosh,_ and the sensation of soft feathers, and suddenly Orlaithe was there, perched on the bedpost.

"What is that unsanitary bird doing in my Hospital Wing?" Madame Pomfrey cried, attempting to shoo the bird away with her hands.

"I'm sorry Madame – she's my bird," Merlin replied puzzled, almost transfixed at the sight of her. "Mayhap she be worried for me?"

As if she knew she was the subject of the conversation, Orlaithe cried a low keening tone. Then Luna said, breathtakingly soft in her direction, to the point that only Merlin with his sensitive hearing could hear her: "You didn't, did you?"

"Well." Madame Pomfrey softened, unheeding of what had just transpired between the Ravenclaw and the bird in question. "That may be, but rules are rules, Mister Ambrosia."

"Of course, Madame. I shall ask her to depart forthwith."

" _Pah! You say, He had still lied,_

 _But the truth was always there in his eyes._

 _Why didn't you look, to truly see?_

 _The answer is you weren't that wise."_

"I think that that is enough information for today," Professor McGonagall started to say, but she was interrupted by Flitwick, who had appeared at his student's side.

"Child?" He asked urgently. The inflection caught Merlin's attention and he turned. Orlaithe called again. Louder, more urgent.

"Luna?" He breathed.

She had risen from her comfortable perch at the end of Merlin's bed and was now standing stock still in the middle of the room. Her blond hair was streaming behind her and her lips were barely moving, yet the sound escaping them was clearly audible. Her eyes were wide open, the dreamy eyes unseeing yet focused on Merlin, and Merlin alone. There was something _old_ in them. A presence that was older than the School, older than _Merlin..._ Older than _Time_ itself _._ The Seer -

Oh.

 _The Seer._

"Miss Lovegood?" Professor Dumbledore asked concerned for his pupil's wellbeing. He took a step forward, but when the Ancient Warlock motioned for him to stop, he did so, albeit slowly. "You too Professor Flitwick. You need to step back."

"What is the matter with Miss Lovegood?" Flitwick squeaked, alarmed.

"She's prophesising," The Last High Priest of the Old Religion replied quietly, never taking her eyes off her as he slid off the bed, motioning for everybody else to step back. Reluctantly, the Charms Professor did so. "Or rather," He added as an afterthought, "She's foretelling the past..."

Padding forward, Orlaithe fluttered off her perch to land on his shoulder, her weight making him more unsteady on his feet than he would have been normally. "Mister Ambrosia," Pomfrey started forward concerned, "You should not be standing right now, regardless of your predisposition towards birds –"

"Her magic's in turmoil," Merlin muttered, whether to himself or the room at large he did not know. "You cannot taste it?"

Indeed he could. It was coiled around her, flavouring the air with her essence. But that wasn't enough. It wanted _out._

" _The man you see is immortal,_

 _Blessed with living through time,_

 _Watching all he loved fall around him,_

 _Yet never dying, stuck full in his prime."_

" _Stop_!" The Ancient Warlock pleaded, the word heavy in this strange tongue he was forced to speak now. His desperation to stop her talking about him fuelled his decision, and he reached out to hold her close. Then, he glared directly into her eyes.

"Leave her _alone,"_ He snarled. The others in his room took a step back at his rage as if half expecting the elements to be conjured and the ground to shake. But the Last Priest of the Old Religion was in full control this time. Yet the Triple Goddess that was possessing Luna simply gazed back, seemingly unperturbed.

 _You would be wise to remember who you are talking to, Boy._

The startled exclamations from the other occupants in the room would normally have been jarringly loud, yet they were oddly muffled as if heard underwater. He could not blame them – it was not every day one heard the Old Religion, let alone the Triple Goddess herself deigning to speak to her precious mortals. He blinked and then promptly put the teachers out of his mind.

"I am sorry," Merlin acknowledged, inclining his head, "I did not mean to offend you."

 _Yet you regularly do._

The Triple Goddess sounded amused, yet such a human emotion would be foreign to her, Merlin knew. Still, the faked emotion was a positive one, and thus perhaps he had a chance to convince her, to make his plea.

"Please," Merlin appealed as he knelt. "She is not ready for this. Mayhap I deserve to be scolded for my words, but I beg thee, not via this method. The girl is still accumulating to _my_ Presence, let alone yours."

Luna's head was now tilted to one side. The movement was unnaturally forced, a facade enacted to make the powerful entity inside more appealing to those that looked on.

"You told me –I don't know how long ago now- that I had to leave her, for 'she wasn't ready and her time had not come.' I had to 'leave her in peace'. I beseech thee if you are going to Prophesise through her, at least let me teach her how to use and control her Power first."

 _Knowledge of the Future and the Past, with everything in between, is needed._

Merlin's temper flared at her refusal. "If that is so, I think mayhap you are forgetting someone. Could it be that the Great and Powerful Triple Goddess has become _forgetful_ in her old age? For if you _really_ want to Prophesise, should you not do so with the Seer that you _already_ have? I am sure that with the _close relationship_ you two once held that Mo-"

 _You forget your place, Boy. Remember what I could and have done to you._

Merlin's eyes blazed a bright, coppery gold and he stood up, breaking etiquette. "HA! If you do, then you have _nothing_ left. You have become a relic in this new world and without me; you would become an obsolete one. The Triple Goddess extinguished. Extinct. You could have killed me a _long_ time ago. But you didn't. Admit it, you _need_ me. It was because of _you_ that I am still _here_ after all, instead of with -"

 _I and I alone hold the Power over Life and Death, boy. You would do well to remember that, in the terms of your deepest and darkest desires. You forget that I can see into your Heart, and I can see directly into your Soul._

"I no longer have my soul. Because of _you."_

 _And that is the way it shall be for eternity if you do not comply with my wishes. For no matter how much you have suffered remember that there s is much more yet to endure._

"Eternity is a long time. I shall _welcome_ the madness in my loneliness," Merlin hissed. "And in doing so I shall corrupt Magic itself."

 _You shall not and never had, or will be alone, for I shall always walk by thine side._

Through the fog of his anger, her tone struck hard and true, and gradually, the fires of fury subsided. For the Triple Goddess' voice had gone strangely for the first time, the Last High Priest of the Old Religion could sense how _old_ she was. How _old_ and how _weary_ she was of this world.

Was it possible that the Triple Goddess felt just as trapped as he did?

Orlaithe chirped with worry and looking up, the Last Dragon-Lord managed to see the last golden remains of the Magic that Luna had bottled up inside her get absorbed through her feathers and skin. He pushed aside his worry for his bird – she was not the important one here, but Luna.

She had begun to shake uncontrollably, her body needing to recuperate after experiencing its First Prophecy and effectively, the first time it had been possessed by the Triple Goddess.

"Thank you," Merlin breathed.

 _She needs to rest. Let her convalesce. You know what to do._

"I will," He said to the air as he bowed once more. The air grew lighter, and he knew with certainty that the Triple Goddess had bode them farewell. At least for now.

"What was _that?_ " Merlin didn't bother to turn around and the voices still sounded distorted so he couldn't recognise the speaker.

"The Triple Goddess. Welcome to my world."

He continued to gaze down at Luna, whose fragile body was still shaking slightly.

"Hush, Luna," He crooned softly to her, before summoning up some of his magic. _"Swefe nu."_

The effect was immediate; her breathing softened and regulated to that of one in a deep sleep. She ceased shaking as the spell took hold, and she relaxed fully, to the extent that she appeared to slumber with a faint smile of her face. Gently, Merlin picked up her up to carefully lay her down on a hospital bed.

"What have you done to her?" Madame Pomfrey questioned, the acoustics in the hospital wing finally returning to normal.

"A sleeping spell. She will sleep and wake up fully rested and recovered tomorrow, exactly like normal. There will be no side effects."

"At least one of us will be getting sleep tonight," Sprout grumbled.

* * *

"I think Umbridge is onto us."

Snape's mouth thinned.

"Then that is through no fault of my own, only yours."

"Madame Pomfrey disagrees -"

"Madame Pomfrey did not just run through the castle like a madman. If the High Inquisitor did not suspect you before, she will indeed now. What a foolish decision you took, to react in such a way."

Merlin glared. It was impossible talking to the Potions Master sometimes. "I would have been late!"

"Is time such an abstract concept to you that you do not realise you would be late as soon as you permitted yourself to stay behind after her class?"

"Is liberty such an abstract concept to _you_ that if Umbridge comes into the possession of the knowledge of my heritage, I shall be forced to forfeit my freedom and my rights?"

The air grew cold, and the tempered fire that raged in Snape's eyes flickered. His tone became frosty, and his voice, normally velvety soft, grew brittle.

"There are worst masters to be enslaved to."

His ire was peaked, but Merlin deigned not to say a word. Instead, he ignored the Professor to continue on with his task of brewing the Potions that had been smashed on the day he lost control. Although it was constructed as detention, and indeed that was what it seemed like to the rest of Hogwarts, Merlin had actually returned to the Potions Master's study as a favour to the Headmaster and Madame Pomfrey. They had taken him aside the next morning – he had been forced to stay in the hospital wing against his will for the night and even though the Physician part of Merlin knew it was for the best, he was still angry on principle – to ask him whether he had had experience brewing some of the potions he had smashed, as their stores were in desperate need of being replenished, and experienced brewers who were willing to do it for a small fee was hard to come by.

The Warlock had accept of course, feeling guilty for smashing the school's reserves when he knew full well that in a castle where hormonal students frequently came up with ideas or spoke incorrect spells which were brought to fruit with disastrous results, the potions were often all that came between the students from suffering from permanent side effects. Dumbledore, Merlin suspected, had ulterior motives. Namely, that he and Snape got along. Which was fair enough, except that giving Merlin the cover of a year's detention was going a _tad_ overboard _._

* * *

Sometime later, where time had ticked by to the extent that Merlin had actually forgotten that Snape was even in the room, let alone that he was still angry at him, the Professor spoke.

"Are there..." The man paused delicately, showcasing a rarely seen form of uncertainty that to be frank was rather unbecoming of him. Thankfully, however, he covered it up with his smooth drawl, making Merlin wonder if he had only imagined the perceived weakness. "Are there ones like you in the Dark Lord's army?"

Merlin paused. What was there to say? That the Dark Lord had the most powerful ally of all? That the myth and the legend of King Arthur were now living and breathing once more? No. Even now, he was unsure of Severus Snape. And yet –

And yet it had been several days since the reveal of his heritage, and not once had he dreamt about the Potion Master meeting with Voldemort and delivering the information that there was a druid in the castle. Once Morgana had heard about his presence he would have identified him instantly. So perhaps –

Perhaps. Severus Snape was playing a dangerous game, but Merlin even more so.

"No." _None are immortal, like me. None have been cursed by eternal life or blessed with another._

Snape paused in his marking and looked up, obsidian meeting cobalt. And although there could be no possible way that the Potions Master could read the Warlock's mind and words as easily as reading a book, Merlin had a distinct feeling that Snape knew he was lying.

The last words that the Triple Goddess spoke before she departed came to Merlin then, like a whisper in the wind.

 _Keep your head clear, Emrys. A Choice is coming and you must consider it carefully. Your Heart will only cloud your judgement, and that will be your failing._

* * *

 **Ta da! For those of you who read the original version of this story, it will become increasing obvious to you that the following chapters will be incredibly smilar, with the only edits being the changes in tone. This is due to my writing having improved by then, as well as actually focusing on the plot, which was a difficult thing for me to remember doing for the first 20 chapters.**

 **Thank you all for leaving reviews, you really do brighten up my week x : )**

 **4Eirlys signing out!**


	15. Toodle Pip

**Hello! I would like to apologise for not having updated for the past month, except that I figure most have you have learnt not to rely on me anymore for an update schedule...**

 **Now, I addressed this before in the last chapter, but I shall say it here now. The next few chapters will be almost exact replicas from Merlin's Guide, with minor edits. Therefore, you shall probably receive a lot of updates over the upcoming fortnight as I will post them as soon as I have edited them. So, for those who have been good and have decided not to peek ahead this is your lucky day! For those of you who have... I'm sorry. However, it will probably still be important to read them as a lot of the smaller events will not occur, with instead plot related quirks added.**

 **Enjoy!**

 _In the Hands of a Prophesised Vice_

Chapter 14 – Toodle Pip

Merlin stretched, throwing out his arms and rolling his shoulders back to such an extent that they grated on each other, sighing in dissatisfaction when the uncomfortable sensation remained. His motions knocked over the impressively large stack of parchment stacked behind him, causing Hermione to glare at him as they tumbled to the floor.

"Alright," The Witch cried, throwing down her quill to look at him, "What is the _matter_ with you?"

"It's my back. There's a tension, a restriction. It's as if I am wrapped in chains, with a scratch that itches which cannot heal."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "That sounds like anxiety."

Flippantly, Merlin rejected the absurd statement. "I do not get _anxiety_. What do _I_ have to be anxious about?"

The Gryffindor leaned back in her chair, the wood groaning slightly as it did so. Her dark brown eyes scrutinised the Warlock closely who stared resolutely back.

"Perhaps all of these detentions you've been receiving lately. Yes, it can be argued that you deserve to be punished for what you did, but _all_ of them? McGonagall, Snape _and_ Dumbledore?"

"I _did_ set fire to a Professor's study and then doused the fire with water from the Black Lake."

"That may be," Hermione conceded with a slight nod, "but surely you've been punished enough -which makes me think there's something else going on."

Merlin scoffed. "You _always_ think there's something else going on. The Golden Trio, investigating Hogwarts' mysteries."

"You sound defensive."

"You sound nosy. Which is the greater crime?"

Hermione was the one to sigh this time. "I care, Myrddin. _We_ care. And we're always here to listen."

"I don't have any problems!"

"What about your back?"

"I _just_ told you about my back."

It was clear that the Witch was growing frustrated, but to her credit, she reined it in. After clenching her eyes shut and taking a deep breath, she was finally ready to respond.

"My point is; if you don't feel comfortable talking about it with us, talk to _somebody._ Neville; Luna; Seamus and Dean even!"

"Fine."

"Good."

"Spiffing."

"Excellent."

There was a pause. "I'm sorry." Merlin offered.

Hermione smiled kindly at him. "It's okay. I understand why you don't want to confide in us, even if I disagree. Now, about Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration..."

* * *

"It is becoming increasingly tiresome to spend my free time cavorting with the Professors under the guise of detention."

The Headmaster smiled genially from behind his desk.

"I'm afraid my boy that that is the way we shall have to do it." He paused to eye the Warlock over his half-moon glasses. "Unless of course, that you wish your heritage to become known to external forces."

Merlin huffed irritably. "Still, the amount of detention that I have received – Hermione's right, it _is_ becoming suspicious. Students have done far worse than I, and they have been let off lightly."

Dumbledore opened his mouth to interrupt, but Merlin cut him off, continuing on firmly. " _No._ This shall be our last meeting together under these circumstances and pretences, Headmaster. If you want to keep me safe, _truly_ safe, then this is what is required of you."

The Headmaster hid it well, but the signs were still there. The slight tightening of the eyes, the tension of the jaw, the flick of a sheet of parchment; Dumbledore was angry about Merlin's proclamation, and if he had been in his adult form, the Warlock would have understood. The Leader of the Light had just had an unknown faction revealed to him, another pawn to consider in the deadly game between light and dark, and it was essential that he was privy to information in order to plan accordingly. But Merlin was in the body of a child, and it was clear that his apparent age did not concern Dumbledore in the _slightest_. Yes, he proclaimed about love and safety, truth and justice, but beneath that he was a coy man, a spider weaving a sinister web around a lonely orphan.

And now Merlin had become prey.

Like Harry.

"Of course," The Headmaster announced merrily, "We would not want to risk alerting others of your status. It shall be as you wish; this session shall be our last. May I then be permitted to question you further, as to learn about your heritage and thus how to prepare? I would have spread the interrogation, as it were, across more session, but we cannot do so now."

"Naturally, Headmaster," Merlin replied, smiling.

"Now, to come to terms with the eventful happenings in the Hospital Wing."

"Finally," Merlin muttered.

Yes, it was very telling that a fortnight of interrogations had passed before discussing what had happened with Luna.

"Miss Lovegood was possessed by a Goddess, correct? The Triple Goddess, to be precise, whom you name the head of the Old Religion."

"Yes," The Last Priest of the Old Religion sighed, running a hand through his raven hair. "It was so she could Prophesise. The Triple Goddess... She is a very powerful figure indeed, and in their heyday, the High Priests and Priestess of the Old Religion would have been trained to be the vessels."

"Training?"

"One is hosting a _goddess,_ Headmaster. It is not a task to be taken lightly. Your body must be prepared, intensely so, in order to be able to host her even partially without losing your mind. I do not know the exact method myself."

A half-truth, but it was the knowledge that was best kept secret. Dumbledore nodded, steeping his fingers against his chin in a classic pose denoting wisdom and cleverness.

"When you tell the future (or in the case, the Past) in the beginning, you get _fully_... occupied, if you will. As you gain experience and you get stronger in controlling the Sight, your need to be inhabited becomes less and less."

"Then Miss Lovegood is a Seer?" Dumbledore confirmed.

"Yes. But she is different from _your_ Seers. A Seer of modern magic uses tea leaves, crystal balls, fumes. Luna has no need of these, for she is natural born Seer, which in our culture now, is rare indeed seeing as –"

"Magic in the world has grown weaker since Arthur Pendragon," Headmaster Dumbledore interrupted. Merlin nodded: the extra "detentions" and reading had taught him that. "Thus you asked her – I believe the Triple Goddess is a she - to leave Luna alone because she wasn't adapted to you?"

"Correct. The best example of a natural born Seer is Morgana, which I am sure you all know."

"Morgana Le Faye," Dumbledore murmured to himself.

"Better than _Pendragon,"_ Merlin spat to himself, half reminiscing. The Headmaster glanced at him sharply, so the Warlock hurriedly continuing, selfishly diverting the Leader's attention to another. "Luna is special in a multitude of manners, namely due to being one of the strongest Seers I've ever met, especially taking into consideration that she has been taught _new_ magic first, not old."

"Is it possible that our magic has interfered with her ability to prophesise? Miss Lovegood spoke of the past, not of the future."

Merlin looked up in shock, momentarily forgetting that the man in front of him was renowned for being clever. "A very astute observation indeed Headmaster. In truth, I do not know. But I suspect – I suspect it is perhaps deliberate. A way to balance the divinity, to give equal footing, and possibly an advantage."

"You suggest that Miss Lovegood-"

"Could be considered a weapon, yes. To the Triple Goddess? Absolutely. She is not... overly concerned with ethics. But to us?" Merlin leaned forward fiercely. " _No._ She is a _child."_

"Mister Ambrosia, let me assure you that no children will be forced to become weapons."

Merlin deliberately leant back as he maintained eye contact with Dumbledore and spread his arms, purposely using open body language to communicate his belief in the Leader of the Light, despite the obvious loophole the man had created for himself within the utterance.

"It interests me that you believe there to be a war, Mister Ambrosia."

"We both know that there is a war, albeit a secret one."

"Where do your people stand in the matter?"

The Warlock was tired now.

"We do not _stand,_ Headmaster, for anyone, least of all ourselves. We are a peace-loving people, only it seems that peace is never a gift given."

Dumbledore scrutinised him once more over his half-moon glasses, his eyes twinkling merrily as he did so.

"It will gladden you, I am sure, to announce that our session concludes here. I apologise forsaking you such a question = I did not mean to make you uncomfortable, nor to keep you from your friends indefinitely."

There was much to analyse in that sentence, but for once Merlin did not care to do so.

"Thank you, Headmaster. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mister Ambrosia."

The Warlock shut the door behind him, refusing to acknowledge the Headmaster's gaze that followed him to the door and seemingly beyond it. The Gargoyles called out to him as he exited, but for once he refused their advances – he wasn't in the mood for it tonight. He started to walk, at a pace through the corridors that one would not describe as hurried, but nor would they describe it slowly. Merlin had perfected it over the millennia: the speed of the innocuous that would not catch the attention of anyone. He was merely a near invisible student going about his business.

Yet, he was still spotted and spoken to.

"Hello."

The timbre was authoritative, the tone coy. And yet it was spoken in the high registers of a little girl.

Merlin turned.

The girl was pretty – if it was appropriate to say so. Her voice was disproportionate for her height, which, assuming she was a first year due to her high pitch was unnaturally tall for her age. With dark roots tumbled blonde ringlets which coiled like snakes around her petite ears, the bob making her hair increase in volume to such an extent that she appeared more intimidating – if such a word could be used, which was a struggled when it was combined with fluffy luminous pink pyjamas.

"Good evening." Merlin smiled kindly. "Are you lost?"

Her mouth tightened, and her brown eyes flickered with emotion. Then she burst into tears.

"I d-don't know where I am-m," She sniffled.

"Shhh it's okay." Merlin crouched down to her height to look reassuringly into her eyes. "What's your name, hmm?"

"S-S-Sage."

"Sage is a lovely name. Where are you going to, Sage?"

Her breathing quickened, and her eyes flickered to her right. "I don't kn-now! I was s-sleeping a-an-d th-then I w-w-woke u-p-p h-h-here."

"What house are you from?"

"S-S-Slyth-ther-rin-n."

"Gosh that's far." Seeing her look of alarm, Merlin hastened to add; "But don't worry, I know where it is." He offered her his hand. After a minute of staring at it in amazement, she seemed to screw up her courage, tightly closing her eyes as she did so, before taking his hand. "My name is Myrddin by the way. Bit of a funny one, I know, but I'm a funny guy."

She sniffed. "Your hand is hot."

Merlin had straightened up now, and so he looked down at her. "Is it? I rather thought your hands were awfully cold."

She tensed. "Why w-would m-my h-h-hand be c-cold? I-I'm wearing f-fluffy p-pyjamas!"

"Very true. Maybe I'm coming down with a fever."

She nodded to herself in what she would likely consider firm, but what Merlin would more accurately describe as cute. They spoke about inane matters as they walked, the child both reticent and eager at the same time to interrogate the Warlock about his life here at Hogwarts and his knowledge. Merlin was candid in his responses, his guard down from talking to the girl, and thus the blame rested solely on him when he was ambushed by his own comments.

" _You're_ the Unicorn whisperer?" Sage was practically vibrating she was bouncing so much with repressed energy, letting go of Merlin's hand in her excitement.

Merlin rolled his eyes, but grinned. "Yes, that's me."

She eyed him up and down, biting on her lip. "How are _you_ still pure?"

The Warlock was taken aback. " _Excuse_ me?!"

"Well you're so _old!"_

Merlin began laughing then, the sheer naivety and innocence in that statement making it the only viable reaction in the interaction.

"Believe me, I know."

They had arrived at the main staircase and were just about to descend when Sage stopped, to turn and face the Warlock.

"I'm gonna take it from here now," She said seriously.

"You sure? I'm very happy to walk you –"

"No. I know my way. I'll be fine."

Merlin's eyebrows rose against his will, but he acquiesced, Perhaps the new snake didn't want to be teased by her housemates for having to ask a Gryffindor – his House _was_ their apparent mortal enemy.

"Goodnight, my lady." He bowed deeply.

She stood tall, still vibrating although grace was her defining feature as she gazed down at him, mirth dancing across her face. "Goodnight, Myrddin."

Merlin smiled at the perfect pronunciation, carefully watching her practically sprint down the stairs and across the Hall electing the cry of " _Watch out!"_ from the Warlock who was terrified of an accident occurring. He stayed for a moment longer, listening to the sound of her footsteps retreating, making sure she was okay. The Prefects were out patrolling tonight, with a Slytherin guarding the dungeons – she should be safe.

His pocket heated up, the metal burning through the fabric and against his skin. Of course – how could he have forgotten? The Warlock turned around, to head back the way he had come, so absorbed in his task that he didn't register the pair of eyes that were watching him leave the entire time.

"Myrddin, you came!" Harry exclaimed as said person walked through the door into the Room of Requirement, where the next DA meeting was

* * *

taking place. Immediately, everybody turned around, to see the awkward looking Warlock standing at the back of the room, feeling embarrassed as everybody's eyes flicked towards him.

Deciding to own the attention, Merlin moved forward easily, smiling as he picked his way towards the front.

"'Course I did. Wouldn't have missed it for the world."

"Dumbledore let you out of detention early then?" Neville asked brightly.

"Detention with Dumbledore?" The Ravenclaw who spoke seemed aghast.

The Warlock shrugged lightly, inwardly rolling his eyes. "Who knew that setting fire to Snape's study resulted in detention!"

Everybody began talking then, students gossiping about what exactly had transpired behind the closed doors of the Potions Master's study and the subsequent detentions. Merlin ignored them – the theories were wrong anyway. After all, who would e daft enough to hit upon the truth? Harry stood there for a moment, enjoying the moment when he was not the centre of idle words before Merlin raised an eyebrow towards him and gestured to the room. With dawning comprehension in his eyes, the Chosen One stepped forward, and with the ever-present whistle, blew on it. Hard.

"Whilst I know that some of you have been worried by Myrddin's absence from our -"

"Never knew you cared, to be honest," Merlin interrupted, earning a mock glare from the DA Leader.

"We came here to learn defence. You can catch up with Myrddin here, after. So, tonight we are going to be learning..."

Merlin tuned out as Harry explained what they would be doing that day. He had already heard it once before. After all, even if it hadn't come out of _Harry's_ lips, he had already mastered most of the spells (what could he say – when you're immortal you _do_ get bored) at least two, perhaps even three centuries ago. He always prided himself on being considered 'up to date' with all of the happenings that went on around him.

It was ironic then, when he became so immersed in his own thoughts that he forgot to pay close enough attention to Harry, and it was with a start that he returned to reality to find that everybody had partnered off with one another, leaving him as the outlier.

"Left alone again, Myrddin?" Harry enquired with a grin.

"So it seems," Myrddin replied with a smile, before leaning in and confessing, "Although it _is_ my fault. I'm afraid that I tuned out you talking and didn't realise that everybody was coupled up."

"And _what_ could possibly be more entrancing than me speaking?" Harry asked indignantly as he beckoned the Manservant over to a clearish space in the centre of the room.

Looking around as he walked over, Myrddin realised that they had apparently conquered Disarming and had gone into Stunning, though there was still a few flashes of the scarlet light whizzing about them.

" _Expelliarmus_ ," Harry shouted over the noise, and a similar jet flew towards the Old Warlock.

"Dreams," Merlin replied simply, as he dodged to the side, before sending back the same spell. He glanced over towards his partner where he saw his wand flying up in the air. He noticed that the Chosen One was regarding him with a sympathetic gaze and as the Ancient Warlock raised his wand, he didn't break eye contact with the boy. " _Accio_!"

"Good or bad?" Harry asked as his wand came zooming back to Merlin before the Warlock chucked it back. " _Expelliarmus_!"

" _Protego_ and both." Harry was clearly confused, but to his credit, the Boy Who Lived did not press the matter. Instead, he glanced around the class, a slight frown gracing his features as he did so. "Sorry Myrddin, but I think I should make the rounds-"

"Sure," Merlin agreed instantly. "But I think Cho needs some help – perhaps you should go to her first."

Harry blushed, his face turning a deep red colour and mumbled something quietly about "best to last" before striding off; sadly in the opposite direction, so that he was walking towards Susan Bones and her friends. Wand drumming on his thigh, Merlin looked around, attempting to Luna through the crowd. He needed to speak to her – he needed to tell her that he -

"Myrddin, over here!" Ernie Macmillan called out, waving his hand wildly, catching the Warlock's attention. Unwillingly, Merlin approached, to the relief of Macmillan's partner, who _on seeing the Manservant approaching, put down his wand arm, relaxing for what was apparently the first time all evening. Around him were several cushions with depression in them, suggesting that the Hufflepuff had fallen in them a few times._

"Hey Ernie," Merlin greeted with a smile on his face, "You've obviously been keeping Justin busy."

"Unfortunately," His partner muttered underneath his breath, but Ernie ignored his friend and instead, concentrated solely on Merlin as they shook hands, his pompous manner almost gave the impression that Merlin was shaking hands with the Mayor.

"It's good to see you out of the Hospital Wing, Myrddin," he commented seriously, "I was getting worried about you. I hope you received my get-well gift?"

"Yes, and I'm sure it would be useful, Ernie," Merlin smiled up at the broad chest boy, "A box of Everlasting Ink quills and a list of spells we have gone over with some packets of Chocolate Frogs – they complement each other exquisitely."

"Well, er, I- I thought you would need to catch up on all of the school work that you've missed the last week," Ernie mumbled, suddenly overcome with emotion.

Merlin reached out to pat Ernie firmly on the shoulder and said sincerely, "I appreciate the thought, Ernie; no doubt they will be very useful."

"I hope you're feeling better now," Ernie said pompously, returning to his normal state of being.

"Myrddin!" Ginger Number One exclaimed, elbowing Ernie gently out of the way and bowing deeply. "Simply _splendid_ to see you, old boy –"

"Marvellous," said Ginger Number Two, pushing his Twin aside and seizing Myrddin's hand in turn. "Absolutely _spiffing_."

Ernie frowned at the Twin's amusing display, trying to look severe and responsible that he should be; being a Ravenclaw Prefect. He offered out a big hand to shake as he said sternly, "Good evening, Fred, George."

"Ernie!" Ginger Number One exclaimed, turning to the Ravenclaw Prefect in apparent surprise, as though he had only just spotted him and seizing his hand, began to pump it vigorously up and down. "How good to see you. Absolutely _corking_ , old bean!"

"So you're finally up and about, old sport? What the devil was wrong with you?"

"Steady on, old bean. I'm worried about how you _might_ have traumatised Ernie," Merlin commented with amusement. "I think you should let him go, don't you?"

"You know, Ernie," Ginger Number Two said seriously to the stricken Prefect, "You're lucky you have such a jolly chap as this one here on your side."

He gave a hearty back slap to the Prefect and in unison, the twins turned to Merlin, who decided to move away before the Hufflepuffs became even more overwhelmed than they already were.

"Goodbye, and thanks once again, Ernie," Merlin said, receiving a nod and a smile from the pair standing in front of you.

"Cheerio. I've got to dash you see. I'm in a _frightful_ hurry," Ginger Number One said in a manner of explanation to Ernie and Justin.

"Toodle pip," Ginger Number Two farewelled, lifting his hand and waving it like the current monarch –a woman apparently – did.

"You are _such_ a perfect gentleman and a frightfully good chap."

Merlin sniffed. "I'm glad _somebody_ appreciates me."

* * *

A woman screamed.

"What the-" Neville began.

In the distance, far beyond the capabilities of a mortal's ear, a muffled commotion could be heard. It seemed to be coming from the Entrance Hall, but it was difficult to tell without being closer – the acoustics played with sound, distorting it to such an extent that it was often impossible to tell if you heard the original noise of an echo bouncing back.

"Well that is positively thrilling." Merlin paused, turning back towards the Gryffindor, who was trembling nervously. "Ready to see some action?"

"No," Neville mumbled.

He came anyway.

The screams were indeed emitting from the Entrance Hall.

For, standing in the middle of the Entrance Hall with rings of people around her was an adult and a deranged one at that. In one hand she had her wand and in the other, an empty sherry bottle. She looked totally and utterly mad; her hair was sticking up on end, the bug-eyed glasses lopsided so that one eye was magnified more than the other; her innumerable shawls and scarves were trailing haphazardly on her shoulders and on the floor around her, giving the impression that she was falling apart at the seams.

Two large trunks lay on the floor beside her, one of them upside down, which made it look as if they had been thrown down the stairs behind her. The woman was staring, apparently terrified at the side of the staircase, where the sight of _something_ stood. Leaning over the bannister, Merlin attempted to see the problem, but the overhang was too great, blocking his view below. Cursing, Merlin pushed forward down the stairs, not bothering to give apologies as he readied his wand, his magic coiling tight below the surface, waiting to be wielded in battle.

"You c-can't!" The woman howled, tears streaming down her face from behind her enormous lenses. "You c-can't sack me! I've b-been here for sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is m-my home!"

"It _was_ your home," The pink monstrosity under the stairs corrected. Umbridge strutted gleefully forwards, a wide smile stretched across her toad-like face as she watched what Merlin now knew was a Professor sink, sobbing uncontrollably onto one of her trunks, "Until an hour ago, when the Minister for Magic countersigned your Order of Dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this Hall. You are embarrassing us."

But Umbridge did not move from her spot, and instead stood and watched with an expression of such sadistic enjoyment that Merlin immediately wanted to wipe it off. Permanently. The Professor shuddered and moaned, rocking backwards and forwards on her trunk, seemingly absorbed in her grief. Around the Warlock, other students snuffled quietly, Lavender and Pavarti further down the corridor some of the loudest.

Footsteps sounded, reverberating across the floor, breaking the silence. Everybody held their breath as Professor McGonagall broke away from the spectators, marched straight up to her fellow Professor and was patting her firmly on the back while withdrawing a large – tartan- handkerchief from within her robes.

"There, there, Sybill... calm down... blow your nose on this... it's not as bad as you think, now... you are _not_ going to have to leave Hogwarts..."

"Oh really, Professor McGonagall?" Umbridge said in a deadly tone, taking a few steps forward. "And your authority on that statement you just provided is...?"

"That would be mine," A deep voice sounded.

Dumbledore stood, framed in the doorway, blotting out the midday sun. It was an impressive sight, because although the entrance into the Entrance Hall was at least two stories high, he cut off a good third, causing a shadow that fell onto Umbridge herself. A metaphor so fitting, Merlin wondered if the move had been intentional. He wouldn't put it past the Headmaster.

" _Yours_ Professor Dumbledore?" Umbridge said, with an unpleasant little laugh. "I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here –" She pulled an unfortunate coloured parchment scroll from within her also unfortunate coloured robes and promptly started to wave it about, as she continued to speak.

"-an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Ministry of Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation and sack any teacher she – that is to say, _I_ – feel is not performing to the standards required by the Ministry. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her."

The Headmaster of Hogwarts gazed down at the women whose identity was finally confirmed: Professor Trelawney, the Divination teacher.

"You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor, you have every right to _dismiss_ my teachers. You do _not_ , however, have the _authority_ to send them away from the castle. I am afraid," he went on, with a courteous little bow that held as much deference as a cuckoo gave to another nest, "That the power to do that still resides with the Headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continues to live at Hogwarts."

At this, the Granddaughter of Cassandra Trelawney gave a wild little laugh in which a hiccup was crudely hidden.

"No-no, I'll g-go, Dumbledore! I sh-shall - leave Hogwarts and s-seek my fortune elsewhere-"

" _No_ ," Dumbledore interrupted sharply. "It is my wish that you _remain,_ Sybil. Might I ask you to escort Sybill back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?"

"Of course," McGonagall replied primly, "Up you get, Sybill..."

Professor Sprout came hurrying forwards out of the crowd and also grabbed her by the arm. Together they guided her past the glaring form of Umbridge and up the marble stairs, students parting as they did so. Professor Flitwick went scurrying after them, wand held out before him as he squeaked " _Locomotor trunks!"_ causing Professor Trelawney's luggage to rise into the air and proceed after.

The School was silent as the procession passed, both in solidarity with Trelawney and defiance at Umbridge. Though of course, it could also have been due to the stench of sherry which the Professor had drowned her sorrows in. Even Umbridge sensed that now was not the time to speak, although that resolution did not last long.

"And what," She said in a menacing whisper which carried the threat of danger around the Entrance Hall, "are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?"

"Oh, that won't be a problem. You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor."

"You've found-?" Umbridge exclaimed shrilly, obviously displeased that her idea of stuffing the castle with sympathetic Ministry teachers having been destroyed. " _You've_ found? Might I remind you, _Dumbledore,_ that under Education Decree Number Twenty-two-"

"The Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if- and _only_ if- the Headmaster is unable to find one. And I am happy to say that on this occasion, I have succeeded! May I introduce you?"

He turned to face the open front doors where the distinct sound of hooves drumming across the ground, coming quickly towards their way was emanating from. There was a shocked murmur around the Hall and those nearest to the door hastily moved further backwards, some of them tripping over in their haste to clear a path for the apparent newcomers.

Then the figure appeared. Astonishing blue eyes (nothing on Arthur's but still admirably) which pierced seemingly to the soul set into a head crowned by platinum hair. His body was strong and supple, clearly defined muscles rippling as he walked forward, his tail swishing sassily behind him. Merlin grinned; it had been a while since he had last seen the Herd of Centaurs in the forest, but at least Dumbledore had picked the one who had been a good friend to the Ancient Warlock over the years.

"This is Firenze," Dumbledore commented happily to a thunderstruck Umbridge. "I think you'll find him _quite_ suitable."

And for the first time since arriving, Merlin wished he had taken Divination instead.

* * *

 **Wahey! I hope you enjoyed. For those of you would like to read my blog on linguistics, it is called** _ **Sounds Write to Me.**_ **I shall be uploading another post in the next week I hope. Thank god for the Easter holidays, eh?**

 **Guest, who reviewed querying if Morgana is going to be a Muggleborn: That issue shall be addressed in an upcoming chapter. Multiple people have brought it to my attention, and it is an interesting matter to considerate : ) No spoilers though!**

 **P.S. If anybody can think of a title for this chapter please let me know. I am out of ideas!**


	16. The Centaur's Speech

**Whew the second update in a week? Can it be that I am actually on time? Wonders never cease... Now I know it might be disappointing to some, but the prank – I'm sure you all know what I mean -shall NOT be occurring. I'm sorry, but it doesn't fit the tone of the story, and is no longer necessary to the plot. On the plus side, Merlin's Guide shall always be there to fill your CRACK! Needs with the multitude of semi-funny pranks which occur.**

* * *

In the Hands of a Prophesised Vice

Chapter Fifteen – The Centaur's Speech

As September merged into October, time at Hogwarts grew more interesting, to say the least. Mainly, because of the Divination Professor. A normal addition to the staff would have left a little impact upon the school, Merlin was sure, but he was no normal addition at a normal time, and this was no normal school. Whilst the unique circumstances that polarized the employment was unusual, to say the least it was the manner of the man itself which made him the talk of the school.

Umbridge was livid, to put it simply. Most students had learnt not to talk about the new Divination Professor in her class – or at all really - and those that did not quickly learnt, returning from detentions with cramped hand. It was interesting to note that very few of the students returned with bloodied hands – no more than five - resulting in Merlin wondering what exactly the High Inquisitor's criteria were for physically injuring a minor. The DADA Professor stormed through the castle and had been seen writing furious missives to the Ministry regarding the presence of the "half breed" in the castle. It was almost funny really – everybody knew that Centaurs hated to be called human, and were extremely proud of the equestrian nature and subsequent magical creature – or monster, depending on the myths you read – status.

However, the Professor of Divination _did_ have another fault.

"Myrddin?" Ron said with surprise when he stepped outside of the new Divination Classroom with Harry. "What are you doing here?"

The Warlock smiled crookedly. "Why, I thought I ought to meet with our new estimable Professor, of course."

Unusually perhaps, was that the boys were both the last members to exit from the class, with the centaur Professor almost towering above them. He turned at the familiar voice, his eyes widening in what could have been in surprise, but was most likely humour.

"Greetings, Master Ambrosia."

"Greetings, Master Firenze, herd member of the Forest."

"Shall we?" The Professor asked, gesturing towards the open door. Merlin walked in, and shut the door in the two stupefied Gryffindor faces, the doorframe glowing gold behind him.

Classroom eleven was on the ground floor along the corridor leading off the Entrance Hall which opened up opposite the Great Hall. Merlin knew from past experience that it was one of the few classrooms that were never used regularly, so it had always held a feeling of abandonment whenever he had entered it. Yet, when he entered it, the first thing he noticed was that the feeling had disappeared. The second thing was that he had appeared to have stepped into the outskirts of a wooded clearing.

"Impressive, Firenze, "Merlin congratulated as he looked around inquisitively. His voice seemed unnaturally loud in the peaceful setting, despite it being normal volume.

The floor had become mossy which spring upwards after every step you took and trees were growing out of it; their leafy branches fanned across the ceiling and windows so that the room was full of soft dapple golden green light. Dotted around the clearing where boulders, likely for students to rest against and to have a hard surface to write on when the rare occasion arrived. Merlin knew from experience that Centaurs hated permanency – of _anything,_ including note-taking. He had learnt that the hard way.

"Am I to labour under the assumption that the sky darkens when you wish?"

Firenze moved towards him. "Indeed, My Lord. Your cleverness as always astounds me." He bowed, his forelegs bending as he brought his head close to the ground in a supplementary action. "I am honoured by your presence, and humbled by your kind words.

Merlin glared at the Centaur. "If I were a lesser being, I would take your hide for revealing my identity. But I am not, and thus you are lucky I enacted a privacy ward."

The playfulness dulled in his eyes, but Firenze rose to his feet anyway.

"How long do you plan on maintaining it, sire?"

"As long as I deem necessary. One prophecy has been made, though it is not of the same calibre as Hjoldir's."

Firenze smirked in remembrance. Merlin had spent a short while working with the herd under the guise of a nature enthusiast, but his cover was ruined when one of the Centaurs, Hjoldir made a prophecy about him. He didn't last long after that. All of the formalities they bestowed upon him suffocated the Warlock, and it was barely a year after when he left the herd.

The Centaur sniffed, an action of arrogance that was not entirely fake. "Human prophecies are rarely accurate, my lord. They are too impatient to read the stars correctly, and instead take shortcuts via _tea leaves_."

"Be cautious, Firenze; you must control your derision if you are to teach their young."

"I apologise, my liege."

"Must I always command you to name me Merlin?" The Ancient Warlock asked exasperatedly.

"Indeed. It is with the same count as the orders of power wielded against my herd," Firenze retorted, standing perfectly still. They were motionless for a second as they stared at each other before both of them broke out into smiles.

"It gladdens me to see you Firenze."

"It's good to see you too, Emrys."

Merlin grumbled at this but let it pass, for at least it was better than 'My Lord'. They moved forward and gave each other a rough embrace. The Centaur winced, the first time he had ever done so, causing Merlin to step back in alarm.

"What is ails you, Firenze? Are you ill?"

"No."

"Dare you suggest mine eyes deceive me?" Merlin rose one eyebrow, and then said; " _Bemeldian."_

There was a shimmer, and then Firenze came back into focus, with burnt hoofmark practically engraved on his chest.

"To whom did the hand belong to that dealt this wicked blow?" The Warlock demanded. He brought his hand to Firenze's chest, placing it gently over the mark, but still causing the man to wince in pain. When he removed it a second later, the wound had healed, and his eyes returned to their cobalt blue.

"I have a warning to give to you from my people-"

"Tell me." Merlin's voice had gone dark and brooding. To the normal mortal, it would have frightened them into submitting the truth. Unfortunately, he knew from experience that his angry tone did not shake Centaurs. "Was it Bane?"

"It does not matter. There is a more serious matter to discuss."

Merlin sighed in resignation. "You _shall_ tell me who did this, even if the consequences shall be unpleasant for the both of you. Rest assured, the miscreant shall be suitably reprimanded."

Firenze seemed unperturbed at this point and once again, began to reiterate the warning that he held for the Ancient Warlock.

"Something is coming, Merlin. Something that concerns you to be in the position as Emrys, Embodiment of Magic. We cannot See clearly enough to know when, where, or how because something is blocking our Sight, but there is indeed _something._ "

"Very cryptic... The blocker must be powerful then, to obscure your sight as such."

There was a moment of silence. In an action that was out of character for the Centaur, Firenze shuffled slightly, pawing nervously at the ground.

"Pray tell, Firenze? Name, that from which you withhold from me!"

The Centaur struggled to meet Merlin's eyes. "There's more, my lord."

"Oh?"

* * *

"I was told to confide in a friend, but what friend could comprehend the torment that I face?" Merlin lamented. Beside him, his companion was unperturbed by his woe and continue to sleep.

"Excuse me, but I am talking unto you!"

She snored. How _rude._

Merlin threw a stick in exasperation, causing the tawny owl it hit to hoot angrily at him, spreading his wings and launching from his perch in an attack. Orlaithe was in the air in an instant, all pretence of sleep forgotten. At once the owl shied away from the both, instead deciding to fly out of the window with a final indignant hoot. The hawk cried out in a challenge, scoffing at the miserable challenge her fellow bird had presented and reluctantly landed when nobody answered her cry.

"I feel you are not invested with a conversation."

Orlaithe swivelled, one golden beady eye fixated on Merlin. She seemed to say: _you're the one who threw the stick, not me._

Merlin sighed. "I acquiesce. Still, I know not why I came to you. You're a _bird,_ how could you possibly understand what I'm going through? A lifespan of mayhap a decade? Eternity is a concept you cannot and will _never_ be able to grasp."

Impossibly, she grew angry at this, once more launching from her perch, but this time to attack _him._ She went straight to the eyes, and almost certainly would have blinded him if the Warlock had not rolled out of the way in time.

"Desist!" Merlin said, holding his hands up pleadingly when Orlaithe made to complete another dive towards him, apparently aiming for his fingers. "I was erroneous in my speech. I apologise."

She circled around him, before landing on his outstretched arm. A normal mortal would have buckled from the unexpected weight, but the Warlock had been prepared for the movement, and thus his arm held steady and true. Orlaithe cocked her head slightly to the side, and although no words were said, the message was clear. An invitation; the experience of freedom.

"No." Merlin shook his head adamantly. "You _know_ what happened last time. I nearly fell to my death! It's a horrendous way to die!"

She was relentless in her quest, her gaze dominating him, challenging him to conquer his fears. He relented slightly as she flapped her weeks, deliberately angling them so that her feathers caught the setting sun, resulting in a blaze of fire. Eternal flames rippled across her body every time she breathed, in a kaleidoscope of gold and crimson and amber and emerald and cobalt and rose.

There was peace in the beauty, and Merlin recalled his last experience when he had flew through the air at breakneck speeds, his human brain taking a step back as the animal one took over. It had been peaceful – or as close to freedom as he could find when hurling towards his death.

"V _ery well,_ you win."

Orlaithe cawed in satisfaction, returning to her original perch as she watched him with a beady eye. Reluctantly he stripped, his back towards the door to protect innocent eyes if any newcomers walked in whilst he was changing. Taking the band Merlin had stolen from Hermione earlier off his wrist, he tore it, so that it now resembled one long piece of elastic. Holding his clothes, he looped the cord through the small holes he had created and enforced especially for this purpose, before bending down to loop it around his ankles.

" _Ic i_ _clingee gesierwe!"_

Nothing appeared to have happened, but as he connected the two ends of the cord together, they magically bonded, before shrinking down to fit his ankle perfectly. He grinned proudly as he straightened up, moving towards the centre of the room to ensure that he had plenty of space.

 _"Ic myne áwilde stángiella!"_

The change was much more pleasant this time as he shrank – not just because he remained stationary in contrast to falling out of a window. By using words to specify and channel his magic, the transition from human eyes to avian was much smoother, and the magic soothed his screaming brain as it comprehended colours which were not possible in human form. Already feeling better, he jumped, flapping his arms – or rather wings – in an effort to become used to this form again.

"It's almost _nice,_ to be beholden to a different form." Merlin mused. "Mayhap I ought to change more frequently."

Orlaithe screeched at him, the only word of which he was able to comprehend was _no._ He shrugged; ignoring her, still intent of becoming familiar and at ease in his new form. By the time he decided Orlaithe was worth his attention, she was already outside of the Aviary, completing loop the loops in view of the window, taunting him. Reluctantly, Merlin took flight, zooming through the windows in the aim to glide alongside her, but ended up crashing into her instead in a flurry of feathers. They fell fast, only stabilising after Orlaithe managed to untangle herself, leaving Merlin room to flap his wings.

There was no time to waste however as Orlaithe shot off immediately, the hawk becoming a rapidly disappearing figure even with Merlin's enhanced sight. He set off after her, frantically trying to keep up.

"Where do you head?"

"Food!"

As soon as the word left her beak, Merlin was forcefully reminded of how _hungry_ he was. The enchantment that he had cast to turn him into his bird form took a lot out of him it seemed, and it was with a flash he remembered that he had eaten a relatively sparse supper.

Orlaithe started to climb as they neared the lake, Merlin following out of pure stupidity. By the time they were over near the western side, which Merlin knew was the deepest part of the lake; she suddenly stopped flapping her wings. In slow motion, Orlaithe toppled slowly to the side until her head was pointing in the direction of the ground, and then she fell. Fast. Merlin remained stationary in the air as he watched her fall and fall and fall until the beautiful glistening peaceful reflection of the lake was broken by her streamlined body diving into the water. It was with even greater stupidity that Merlin than executed the same manoeuvre.

It was exhilarating, falling through the air – now that it was a conscious decision, that is. He plunged down and copying the moves that Orlaithe made, it was with streamlined precision that he entered the water, the body hardly slowing him down as his momentum carried him deep into the lake, where the bigger fish swam. Looking around, he caught a glimpse of a deep green fish, and flapping his wings slightly to propel him through the water, he found it to be a pike. His mouth salivating and moving quicker now that he had worked out how to swim whilst in avian form, Merlin struck, capturing the fish in his beak.

Carrying his breakfast up to the surface and onto the shore, Merlin wasn't surprised to see his companion already sitting there, eating some trench. The next few minutes were silent for them apart from the sounds of them eating the fish and eventually, they finished, Orlaithe first.

"I pondered on the query that my stomach would have rebelled. Yet it did not." He broke the friendly silence that was between them. In reaction she shook herself, spraying water droplets all over him.

"Hunger motivates."

"Indeed."

She scratched at the ground, cleaning her claws. "You trouble?"

Copying the action, Merlin considered his words. "Morgana is back."

That seemed to sum it all up nicely. Orlaithe however, did not share the same opinion. She ruffled her feathers, puffing up dramatically and cried out loudly, Merlin struggling to understand what she was saying.

"MORGANA LIVES?!"

"Yes, I discern. Control yourself –even I did not react so, and I know am best acquainted with her."

It took a while, but after a lot more screeching, the hawk finally settled, with a firm, but inexplicable " _no_ " as the answer to a question Merlin was not aware he asked.

"She's working with Voldemort, a monster who wishes to conquer humanity by decimating and enslaving non-magical, and those with non-magical ancestry. Some full-blooded magical support him apparently, though it is borne of ego and hatred, not out of sensibility. Clearly, Morgana is using him and shall overthrow him. She does not despise non-magicals, despite what history says."

"Obvious."

"Then again," Merlin mused, "Madness might cloud her judgement. Eternity doesn't keep well with anyone, least of all someone who was punished like she was."

"MAD?! PUNISH?!"

Merlin clammed up then. "I wish not to speak of it."

There was an angry silence between them. It was heavy and oppressing, causing Merlin to squirm in discomfort. Orlaithe too was affected, as she suddenly took off, heading over to the forest. Whilst it might have been made out of the need for isolation, Merlin followed her anyway. It was interesting to note that the Forbidden Forest did not deserve its name when viewed from above. The setting sun filtered through the trees, albeit little managing to penetrate to ground level. As they flew, a flash of gold caught Merlin's interest. With attention piqued, he decided to fly lower, soon twisting and twirling through the trees in actions which suggested he was a natural. He didn't notice the trees thinning, and so it was with total surprise and aplomb that he flew straight into a unicorn's rear end.

The Warlock landed in a heap on the ground, dazed. There was a cackle somewhere behind and above him – Orlaithe no doubt – but Merlin had more immediate problems. A rather irate unicorn who had just had a bird fly into it was stomping its feet as it turned around to see the unfortunate culprit.

"Who darrrres touch me?" She nickered in annoyance.

Merlin flapped his wings to right himself, before bowing low in supplication.

"It is I, Emrys. I apologise for the mishap ma'am. I am rather unused to this form."

She snorted. "That is no excuse."

Well, that was a surprise. It was rare to find those who were unaffected by his true identity, and unheard of from those who were part of the Old Religion. Or it _was_ unheard off, because the unicorn continued.

"Do you not know who I am, avian?"

"Uh –"

" _Enough,_ Kaera. It was an accident, and you are being inconceivably rude to persist. Your foal shall be well. Go lie down if you are ailing, but leave Emrys _alone."_

It seemed that Celeste had finally noticed the commotion, appearing from the undergrowth to see if there was anything to be done. Even with the affirmation, and from the Herd Leader no less, that Merlin was indeed who he said he was, Kaera remained unaffected. She snorted once more, glaring at him, before turning to lumber over to the other side of the clearing. Now that Merlin could view her from the side on, it was clear that she was indeed, pregnant and heavily too.

"Our young are rare and precious these days, in times of non-believing and hatred. Kaera especially is greatly protective of our future young. Her last foal had scarcely reached maturity before it was savagely attacked, consumed by the monster living in the castle."

Merlin turned in horror, tearing himself away from Kaera, who had settled down on the supple grass, her eyes closed in contentment.

"Somebody in the castle ate your young?!"

His horrified voice was jarringly loud in the clearing, causing the unicorns around him to erupt. Eternia pawed the ground, and if she was capable of snarling, she would have done so at the foolish Warlock. As it was, the whicker was warning enough.

"Everybody _SETTLE._ And _you,"_ she wheeled around from ordering her herd to chastise her fellow Immortal. "Demonstrate _respect."_

Merlin sank to his knees once more, his head so low it hit the ground.

"I apologise most profusely. I knew not –"

"The crime is not one of ignorance, but one of respect. Are we not estimable in thy view, Emrys? Does the Embodiment of Magic itself hold himself to a value beyond others?"

"No, Herd Leader."

"Then be more considerate of others."

There was a shocked silence across the clearing as she spoke. The Herd was split; half incredulous at the sheer audacity that Eternia held by berating Merlin, the other in agreement of what she had been saying.

Merlin was of the latter.

He felt shame as he had never felt it before. It almost crushed him in its weight, of the realisation that he was cruel sometimes, in his actions. Had immortality really affect him that much? That he had little empathy left, the fore feature of humanity?

Eternia gazed at him with compassion in her eyes, as Merlin stood, frozen. When she deemed time had dragged on enough, she spoke again, her voice gentle, but firm.

"What was your purpose in visiting us, Emrys?"

'I – I-" Merlin was at a loss for words. How could he beg the unicorns for information, which he should already be in possession of, after such a dressing down? To begin a selfish action when it was selflessness which had gone astray?

"Emrys, speak your words."

"I seek information about the upcoming war."

"The Dark are recruiting more magical creatures to their cause; Giants, Trolls, Dementors" and here, both Herd Leader and Merlin shuddered in horror. "The creatures that have remained neutral or are fighting for the light are; Unicorns, Thestrals, Centaurs, Merpeople and Sphinxes."

"No dragons?" Merlin asked, keeping his tone light.

"Affirmative, on both sides."

It went unspoken, but it filled the space between them: _you have not called them back._

"You know, I presume of the prophecy?"

"Yes. The centaur informed me. I want to know who made it."

"What leads you to believe it was not a centaur?"

"They detest rhyming."

The cool facade almost broke then from the humour of the truth within the statement, but her resolve did not falter.

"It indeed was not a centaur who spoke the prophecy, but I am not privy to the true identity."

Privy... the word implied that the identity was forcefully hidden from her. But there was only one who would do so: the Triple Goddess.

"I see."

"I highly doubt you do."

It was clear there was nothing more to be done here. Perhaps it was best for him to leave now, to let the unicorns calm down.

"Thank you greatly for your audience, Herd Leader." Merlin bowed again, his beak touching the ground. It was only when the action was acknowledged, and he took to the skies, that his feathers resumed their streamlined formation. In the freedom of flight, he finally let himself think of the prophecy that Firenze had told him earlier that day.

" _The day will start with a dawn,_

 _Complete with gold,_

 _And everything is fine._

 _Two visitors come,_

 _The third is near,_

 _For now you feel no fear._

 _But this is the Day when Loyalty died,_

 _So Magic arrives with a choice;_

 _Fulfil the task you once held dear,_

 _Or let Darkness conquer Light._

 _But be warned, Lord Emrys,_

 _And tread cautious,_

 _And tread wise;_

 _For one thing is certain in all of the fear;_

 _This will end in Love's Demise."_

* * *

 **Tell me your thoughts. I hope you all have a fantastic week : )**


	17. Immortality

**I know this is a small chapter, but honestly, it was SO HARD to write. I was originally going to post what is now the next chapter – which does require rewrites after this but they shall be minimal –before I realised that we really needed to catch up with Morgana in order to further the plot. And then the interaction became so hard to WRITE. Honestly, I know Voldemort is very OCC, so any tips about how to write him would be greatly appreciated because let's face it, I'm doing a terrible job of it.**

 **This is just a reassurance that I am back. Until June the 3** **rd** **, it is unlikely you shall have any life changing chapters, if I post any chapters at all – I have exams you see, for the next three weeks and I am determined to do well. But I promise after that I literally have NOTHING on apart from 12 hours of part time work a week so I shall have plenty of time to write.**

* * *

In the Hands of a Prophesised Vice

Chapter Sixteen - Immortality

The Lady sat on the edge on her bed in her chambers, her bowed head cradled by two slender hands. With her fingers pressing lightly on her throbbing temples, the pain was eased, albeit only temporary. It was helped by her long dark tresses half filling her vision, blotting out the brightness of the midday sun. It was unlike her to rise so late; less so due to the nights which plagued her. The new medicines had no effect on her, the mortal version less so. With no healing bracelet and the inability to cure her own mind, she was subjected to the throbbing until the healing potion she had dictated to Lucius was made.

It was ironic, in a way that once again she suffered from night terrors, though these were of a different kind. No more was she prophesising, dreaming of the future. Instead, eveningtide was spent creating defences, building impenetrable walls with imperceptible traps to capture the one who stalked her mind, the backdrop of nightmarish visions depicting the hell she had escaped enough to install mind numbing fear into anyone who beheld them.

Yet, the invader returned.

It was not Merlin, of that she was sure. Or, to be more precise, it was not Merlin _all_ the time. Her defences were good enough to keep him out and besides, he lacked the subtlety to enter her mind and take what he wanted without leaving a trace. He had never been gifted in the mind arts – not like she. On the occasions where they had battled, and the occurrences she had watched since - whilst stuck in that accursed place – he had the finesse of a particularly large and clumsy bear. That is to say: none.

But this mind-walker? They were able to slip past Morgana's initial defence easily, and walk aimlessly amongst her thoughts and memories, leaving only the barest trace behind. Morgana had only known there was an intruder when they had made the imbecilic mistake of accidentally broadcasting their thoughts to her – only mere snippets, a brief glimpse, but enough to signify that the High Priestess had her private sanctuary violated. The visits were aimless, and more often than not inadvertent. The ineptitude of the acts signalled that it was a beginner inadvertently mind-walking, but only one with mastery in the mind arts would be so imperceptible alone – unless they had assistance. But yet again, this carried no hint of the Warlock's doing: whoever it was, this powerful amateur, was acting alone.

Banishing the uncomfortable thoughts from her mind, she stood up to prepare for the day. Immediately, there was a small _pop_! The ugly servant creature appeared in front of her wardrobe.

"What would you like to wear today miss," It squeaked.

She hadn't learnt its name – there was no need to. It would never have given it to her, for like all creatures of the Old Religion, it worshipped the embodiment of magic, Emrys. It was a miracle that it still served her, but it seemed that it was unable to break free of the direct order its mistress Narcissa, had given it.

"A beautiful one."

Perhaps it would bring her comfort if she were to dress well for the day. There were few constants in her new life, but Morgana's love for clothes had not died, unlike her body.

It went silently about its work, and the Queen was soon dressed. It did not bother to wait around for the next order, and instead disappeared – the basic task had been completed and it had no wish to lurk on the whims of Emrys' greatest rival. Morgana did not care – in fact, it brought her some measure of comfort: the insinuation that it was scared to remain in case she would be able to sway it to her line of thinking.

Unlike the mind-walker.

Her mood fell again at the thought, and she stepped forward in anger to address her reflection. Her voice rang out authoritatively through the chambers, the familiar acoustic comforting as she reaffirmed to herself: "You have made progress."

And indeed she had. It would have taken an age to have met with the creatures had one not been sent to spy on her. They had either been an immense fool or a great believer of trust to have come so close as to attract her attention as she rode through the surrounding countryside. They were easy enough to capture after that, though it was harder to interrogate her: Morgana did not care to inform the occupants of the manor of her movements, as they would have been foolhardy in their choice of action.

" _Men,"_ Morgana muttered angrily to her reflection.

The Queen had released her captive after she had detailed the terms of their treaty. It was unlikely to be taken seriously – but Morgana had taken the chance. She had to.

* * *

"I want to speak to you."

Lord Voldemort looked up from where he had been staring at the rat-man quivering in front of his ridiculous fake throne-like chair - only a foolish man would deign to sit on a black throne, for it signified that their reign would be one of terror and death. The wand he was twirling stilled momentarily before resuming its hypnotic motion, and scarlet eyes flickered in anger, before becoming still and untouched as he reigned in his troubling emotions.

"Must you barge in so?"

"It matters not when your minion bears the same information as he always does: that he has failed to sway the guards and that you must bide your time. _Forhwierfe_!"

The minion let out an agonizing squeal as he was forced to change into his alternate form. When the snake began to slither out from behind Voldemort's seat, interested in the new snack opportunity which had just presented itself, the rat squeaked loudly in alarm, before dashing for the safety of the door and disappearing out of sight. The snake hissed in disappointment, before slithering back to resume its prior position in the shadows of the chair.

Voldemort laughed, the sound callous and cold. "Whilst that was amusing, it was also rather unnecessary."

Morgana simply raised one eyebrow, moving forward to stand in front of the Dark Lord. She sneered as she looked down at him.

"I am your ally, am I not? Or am I not afforded that status, and am merely relegated to be a mere member of your guard."

Voldemort stood up, forcing Morgana to back up less they were to butt heads.

"I never thought I would understand how sleep deprivation could be considered torturous, but your inappropriate actions are quickly affirming that theory. You would be wise, my lady, to remember that I was your saviour. I could just as easily send you back."

Morgana gave a challenging smirk as a response to the last statement but chose instead to address the penultimate thought.

"Why did you summon me?" Lord Voldemort blinked, clearly surprised at the turn in the conversation, but Morgana did not stop. "I have been weakened by my imprisonment, indeed I still am, albeit stronger than my newly resurrected self. Yet you have made no demands of me. The Old Religion demands balance to be restored at all costs, and as of yet it cannot take my life, and thus another must be taken."

"You speak of Merlin."

"No." She paused. "I speak of you."

Lord Voldemort made no perceptible telling movement. Indeed, his manner did not change at all, either outwardly or inwardly that the Queen noticed which she was reluctantly impressed at. Still, the air seemed to have become more heavy, the twirling of the wand more threatening – or at least, the action more threatening to a lesser person. But not to Morgana – she could take him out in an instance.

"You would kill me in cold blood?"

Morgana cocked her head to the side. "You have already done that to yourself. No, I offer you salvation."

Voldemort flinched almost imperceptible, but said evenly: "If you barged in her to deliver a sermon, Morgana –"

She waved him off impatiently. "The Old Religion does not require weekly attendance in which Priestess preach, unlike your current fads. No. I am referring to your fragmented soul."

Voldemort flinched and his terror manifested as white hot anger. He hissed unintelligibly as he brought his wand up, pointing it menacingly at Morgana. Stepping forward into the Queen's personal space, the snake once more slithered out from underneath the chair and moved to the back of Morgana, causing her to be surrounded. Yet she still stood, cool, calm, collected.

"What do you know of my soul?"

"I know that there is little left. I can sense the torment you have put yourself through, of how you defy nature itself in your quest for immortality. I felt the rip on the day you released me, though I knew not what it was. I thought the power released was merely a side effect of the summoning, but it was not. You have truly torn your soul into what is now seven pieces." She levelled her gaze at him. "I do not know whether to be impressed by your dedication or horrified by your foolishness."

"It is not foolish to be immortal."

"It is foolish to fragment your own soul so that you become a mere shade of life when there are other avenues open to you. It is little wonder –" she shook her head. "No consequence. It is clear why, in part, you decided to retrieve me from my prison. You wish to use the Cup of Life, or the Holy Grail, as it has become known."

Though Voldemort had become confused by the turn of events, to give credit his countenance did not slip. It was as Morgana predicted: he was (wisely) unwilling to let on that he had little idea to what she was referring to, for it did not fit that persona of the mighty leader that he portrayed. The Dark Lord refused to walk straight into the trap Morgana had created for him, instead skirting the boundary warily.

"The Cup of Life has been lost for centuaries."

"We both know you are a seeker of the lost."

Voldemort looked at her sharply. Interesting – Morgana had been referring to finding the ritual and the location to release her from her imprisonment, but it seemed that she had inadvertently referred to a mater the Dark Lord would prefer to be private.

"I have already achieved immortality."

"At the cost of your soul. Do you not desire the greater form of immortality? Where you have skin of iron, and muscles of steel? Where blade and spell would reflect off your skin, and pain a feeling of the past? Many have fractured their souls, few have saved their sanity. The Cup of Life grants you that which it promises: life, complete and utter life. Full of power, full of strength, full of mind."

The Dark Lord was suspicious, rightly so.

"And what of the cost?"

Morgana was slow to reply, though it was not out of an absence of an answer, but more than what she had to say needed to be told carefully. "I am toiling under the assumption that the soul splitting ritual splits the host soul – that is, the soul of your body - in half every time you partook in it. Therefore, I warn you: you have so little soul left – barely a point of dozen and score – that the cup will require a greater amount of soul. The soul containers you have created: at least one of your earlier severations would have to be sacrificed in order for the Cup of Life to deem that you are human enough to grant you existence eternal."

There was silence, and Morgana turned to leave, deliberately stepping over the snake as she did so.

"What makes you think I would dedicate my time to finding this artefact?"

"You wouldn't." Morgana threw over her should. She slowed, still facing the door, deliberately keeping her back to the monster in the room. "Did you not ever wonder how I could view the land of the living? How I am still alive, after millennia of imprisonment?"

Silence. Of course. It was selfish of her to think that even her ally would have thought of her during those dark days. She snapped her fingers and continued on her way. When she spoke again, although her tone was mocking in aim, it held a great deal of bitterness that she could not hold back. "I shall leave it for you to decide, _my lord."_

As she stalked out of the room, leaving the empty Cup of Life sitting tantalizingly on the edge of Voldemort's chair, the Queen smiled wickedly.

* * *

 **For those of you who are advertent plot hunters and clue finders, rest assured there are several of them in this chapter. For the casual readers – this was likely quite boring, and I apologise for that.**

 **It would be interesting to hear everybody's thoughts on what Voldemort would choose, however – would he prefer his Horcruxes, and having seven fail safes for immortality, or would he choose the Cup of Life, destroying one or more Horcruxes to give himself a greater proportion of his soul in order to achieve the immortality of the Old Religion?**

 **For those of you with exams, whatever the level. I bid you good luck. You shall be fab : )**


	18. The Witching Hour

**Apologies for the lack of update this past however-long-it-was. I was not lying when I said I was nearly done in the previous chapter. One particular section kept on screwing me over, and then life happened. Anyhow, this is a nice meaty chapter, and things will be speeding up. I hope you all enjoy!**

 **P.S. Thank you for all your reviews folks! I have answered the guest ones at the bottom : )**

In the Hands of the Prophesized Vice

Chapter Sixteen – The Witching Hour

 **Eight Days**

 **Merlin's POV**

Once more, Merlin awoke with a start, his heart pounding. Sitting up, it took him a few moments to realise that the sound of rushing air was him gasping for breath, even though his mouth was filled with blood from when he had been biting his lips in order to avoid noise. Thank the Goddess he had had the foresight to silence his bed hangings – Seamus and Ronald snored so loudly that they gave Merlin whenever he could not fall asleep before them, which was often. Regardless, he clambered out of bed anyway and made his way to the Astronomy Tower.

He needed to think. He needed to see the stars.

Hogwarts was silent as he strode through the halls, the hour so late - or early depending on how you looked at it – that even the Caretaker had gone to bed, slumbering peacefully floors below. Finally, he reached the top of the tower, and even though he had just completed a fairly strenuous climb, and that the night was unseasonably warm, he did not take off his dressing gown or slippers. For Merlin was cold, his core frozen at what he had just witnessed.

At the reminder of what he had done to Morgana.

" _Did you ever not wonder how I could view the land of the living?" How I am still alive, after millennia of imprisonment?"_

The memories of the dark time returned. Of how he had returned to the site of the Witch's death and upon discovering that she was still breathing, albeit barely, how he had succumbed to his heart-wrenching grief and an unquenchable rage. Of the bellow of the summoning, and the heat of the chalice and the hatred in his casting –

" _Emrys."_

Merlin blinked, startled. Glancing around, he found that he was still alone on the tower. Although the voice was not part of his memories, he summarised that his mind desperately imagined the voice, in order to escape from the horrors of his mind. The Warlock stared out into the night, in an attempt to find solace among the stars and to regain his sense of time. It was the wee hours of the morning – the Witching Hour, as they used to call it. He laughed bitterly. Maybe that was how he could see Morgana's actions – the Triple Goddess had finally gained a sense of humour.

But no – that made no sense. Whilst it was not clear how much time had passed exactly – after all, dreams were fickle things – it had most definitely been midday, the dream charting the Witch's morning routine. Yet it was night time here at Hogwarts. Unless Morgana and her cronies had taken up residence in another time zone across the world, she would be sleeping when Merlin received the visions. It was highly doubtful Morgana was deliberately letting him gain access to her memories, for what little advantage she was gaining was lost instantly. Merlin had always thought that she had been a fairly good tactician, a trait in which the Lady would claim was from her adopted father Gorlois, but in reality, was a shared feature of the Pendragon family. Of course, it was possible that her mind had deteriorated whilst stuck in that hellhole, but she had seemed remarkably sane in the flashes their connection gave him.

A stab of guilt struck at the Warlock. She deserved the fate which he dealt her – Morgana was not _worthy_ enough to be admitted to Avalon. But the punishment he ordained? The torture which he had thought up in one brilliant hatred-fuelled flash, and which he had felt a savage enjoyment at enacting?

"Maybe I shouldn't have done it," he whispered."Maybe I should have let you be."

His emotions were in turmoil. Hadn't he been an advocate for equality, once upon a time? Hadn't he wanted to have both magical and non-magical people dwell in harmony? Morgana had wanted that too, to a certain extent.

If it hadn't been Arthur, if it hadn't been Camelot, but instead another city, with a nameless population, would he have condemned her actions?

Uther had been a tyrant, enacting the Great Purge, causing Camelot to descend into the Dark Ages. He had maliciously slaughtered Merlin's people and brethren to such an extent that now, Kiligarrah and Aithusa were the Last Great Dragons – as they had remained, even in Merlin's time. If there was a person who deserved the sentence Merlin had passed, that persecutor did.

And yet – and yet Merlin had been kind towards the Dictator, even in his final moments. Because Merlin was Arthur's, and Arthur was Merlin's, and he had been so distraught that he had _begged_ Magic to save his father.

Uther had been many things, but he was always proud of his son. Even when Arthur fought with him, he would never have dared – Merlin's breath caught in his throat, and his hand slowly curled into a fist as his magic within ignited, racing through his veins, his eyes clenched shut in the effort to stop the memory from occurring –

But he failed. And as he was once more forced to watch his King, his brother, his _soul mate_ from being murdered by his own sister, he retained some comfort in Morgana's testimony.

" _When you are immortal, you can become terribly, terribly cruel."_

* * *

 **Five Days**

It was in an orderly line that the fifth years entered into the classroom. There was no ruckus, no enthusiasm or impatience which was typical of entry into other lessons as students fought to own the best seats in the class, or the right to sit by their friends. Instead, there was dull resignation, the energy in the room muted, as were their emotions.

For, of course, Umbridge was standing there, at the front of the class, clad in her vile and nauseating pink robes.

"Good afternoon class."

"Good afternoon Madam Umbridge," They chanted in unison.

The toad women beamed. "That's so much better than when I first arrived! You should all feel most proud."

No-one responded. Undeterred, Umbridge continued, her smile transformed into something cruel as a tinge of maliciousness was added.

"Today, we shall be reading chapter seven. As always, there shall be –"

"No need to talk," Seamus muttered darkly underneath his breath.

The double session was agonising, even for Merlin, who had been tortured many an occasion. Thus, there was no hope for the students. It amazed the Warlock that none had fallen asleep in her class yet – though her beady eyes and her clear relish of issuing detention likely being the only deterrents. Seamus and Dean's boredom resulted in them creating new code from the sentences in the book, the ingenious method the only way they would actually read the damn thing. Even Neville, sweet, obedient Neville, had long given up, instead doodling plants in the margin, treating each page as a word-search or crossword puzzle and circling words linked with Herbology.

The lesson passed slowly, with everybody constantly eyeing the old clock at the front of the class, placed there ever so precisely, so that every torturous second could be recorded. Yet, with twenty minutes till the end, Umbridge departed from her usual routine. She stood up from the desk, and with a sheath of parchment in hand, began to distribute them to each student. Flummoxed, Merlin waited, only receiving the answer to the conundrum when Hermione whispered aghast:

" _What? A pass?"_

Despite everybody's predictions to the contrary, a fortnight ago Umbridge had sat the class down and immediately told them that they had an essay due in for the proceeding lesson – which so happened to be two days hence. It was a challenge to determine what confused the students more: the fact that even though Umbridge clearly _hated_ teaching with every fibre of her being she had willingly decided to torment herself by assigning essays she would be required to mark; or the subject of the essay.

Namely: a five-foot essay debating whether charms are more reliable and flexible in a dangerous encounter than hexes or curses.

With the Ministry's unwillingness of teaching the students defensive theory was taken into consideration, 'twas a curious topic to write about. The answer which that faction would have preferred was clearly charms, due to the category having a multifaceted purpose, with household and everyday charms holding the majority proportion before defensive, and finally, offensive charm numbers were taken into consideration, in comparison to hexes and curses, which are purely delegated to combat. Indeed, Harry had written about the practical uses of _expelliarmus_ extensively, whilst Merlin had decided to take the prompt and the subtle hint and ran with it, detailing how every day charms, such as the scouring charm, which could be used to sandpaper your opponent's skin and fill up their mouth with bubbles, rendering them unable to voice spells if both variants were used. His personal favourite, however, was detailing extensively how the folding spell could be used to knock out your opponent.

It was very soon clear that those who had taken the route of favouring hexes and curses – Hermione being a notable example – received unfavourable marks. Surprisingly, Harry had received _Exceeds Expectations_ on his returned essay, and it was hilarious to see the disgusted look on Umbridge's face as she returned it, and the Chosen One's gaping look of astonishment at his mark. Shortly after, Merlin received his.

The Warlock's essay was _covered_ in red ink, as Umbridge seemingly underlined every "mistake", whether it be lexical; skeptic was most definitely the right spelling, (what on earth was the toad on about replacing the k with a c), grammatical; the use of the interpunct "·" was most definitively correct there and even historical; the most notable example being the creator of the _expelliarmus_ charm, who Merlin wrote to be Jimothy Elphinstone, a good friend of the Warlock. Here, the High Inquisitor had scribbled in the margins, in an almost absentminded hand:

 _Inaccurate. Merlin was the creator of the disarming charm. Failed._

Granted, Merlin was with Jimothy at the time of the creation, but that was only because he was the reason that the charm had to be invented. Jimothy hated that Merlin could best him in whatever magical contest struck his fancy at the time, and so created the spell in order to cheat his rival out of the chocolate trifle he had put at stake.

Umbridge stared down at the Warlock.

"I once said that if you study hard, you will be rewarded. Yet I fear, Mister Ambrosia, that no matter how hard you study, you will never prevail at this school. With your shocking spelling and grammar and frankly lack of skill with a quill, it's a miracle you even managed to write a sentence, let alone a whole essay. How on earth you managed to pass these previous years remains a mystery." The toad sniffed. "Clearly you are another example of how the teaching staff here at Hogwarts has failed the magical population, to have allowed you to advance beyond your means." She leant over, to condescendingly pat Merlin's check in what was probably calculated to be a sympathetic action. "No matter. Whilst the shattering of the illusion is painful now, I have done you well in the long run."

Harry turned red, and Hermione nearly burst out of her seat, indignant with rage on the Warlock's behalf.

"Myrddin is _dyslexic,_ Professor –"

"Silence, Miss Granger. Or do you wish to receive detention for your lies? Perhaps you could rewrite your quite frankly appalling essay in my office this evening? Mister Potter could use a friend."

Hermione abruptly silenced, her mouth closed with a click. Shaking, Harry attempted to control himself, clearly not wanting to risk one of his best friends joining him in the notorious detention if he made a scene. Merlin caught his eye and mouthed: _its okay_ when the High Inquisitor moved further down the line, handing out Lavender's essay. The Boy Who Lived wilted under the Warlock's reassuring gaze. Merlin had planned to say something else when he heard it.

A whisper in the wind.

" _Long live the King."_

He whipped his head around instantly, frantically trying to pinpoint the speaker.

"What was that?"

Dean Thomas startled, leaning back in his chair in a covert motion to get away from the worked up Warlock. "I'm sorry. I said - good thing she put the records in the bin." He beheld Merlin's confused expression, and then continued: "You alright mate?"

"Yeah," The Warlock replied, waving away the concern. "Just misheard you 'tis all."

* * *

 **Four Days**

 **Morgana's POV**

As the powerful magic was released, Morgana took a step back, unable to fully stop herself from reeling at the sudden emptiness she felt in her core but managing to lessen the impact. She had appearances to maintain after all.

Across from her, Lord Voldemort was not so controlled, and he partially collapsed on the floor, sweat a thin film across his snake-like face as he grimaced. He stayed there, hapless, helpless. And for a moment, Morgana was tempted. It would be so easy to tip the cup over, to spill the crimson liquid onto the floor, to be rid of the reptilian man –

But no. It was not his time yet. Besides, she was yet to have her fun.

The Queen stepped towards the pedestal, where the Cup of Life stood proudly. Even though she had been trapped with it for over millennia, she was still in awe of its beauty. Except once she had viewed it with hope, and now she only viewed it with hatred. Automatically, her right hand moved her left sleeve up, exposing her milky flesh. Stepping forward again, she reached for the bloody knife, to enact the motion she had done thousands, no _millions_ of time –

There was blood in the chalice. The sight jolted her back to reality, and hurriedly, she set the knife down, pulling down her sleeve simultaneously.

"It is done," She said, turning away. If her voice lacked the conviction and strength it usually held, Voldemort didn't notice, or at least, had the grace not to acknowledge her weakness.

Something moved in the shadows, and it was only because her companion did not react that Morgana did not attack. The former's compliance was explained when Nagini slithered out of the darkness seconds later, heading straight towards her master. Voldemort laid a trembling hand on her and spoke to the beast quietly and in earnest.

As if he had been worried about his familiar. Curious.

She turned away from the sight, her heart pining for her own beast. She had often sought for Aithusa over the years whilst trapped, but the visions she saw never contained the dragon. There was a possibility, she knew, that her faithful companion had fallen at the battle, but she refused to accept that. Aithusa was a survivor, and if she had survived the pit they had been cast into, then she would have been able to survive the battle.

Morgana had once foolishly thought that nothing could be worse than the literal hellhole Aithusa and she had been trapped in. She sneered: How _naive_ she had been.

"Curious," Voldemort whispered into Morgana's ear.

She stiffened, but otherwise not did outwardly react to the impertinent invasion of her personal space, though her skin crawled where she felt his breath.

"What is?" Her voice was cool, collected. As she swivelled, her face wore a mask of cold amusement, and she lifted one delicate eyebrow to indicate her displeasure at their close proximity.

"I feel no different." His tone was one of almost childlike curiosity – a state Morgana did not associate with her accomplice. "One would have thought I would feel more alive, more whole. But I do not." He laughed cruelly, the sound high and cold. "This proves that there is little benefit for the addition of a _soul._ Humans can be so idealistic: to stake their lives on the purity of such fiscal material."

Clearly, if he was unable to recognise the hypocrisy in the statement he had just uttered, then Voldemort's sanity had not improved with the additional soul he had just received. Now _that_ was interesting.

"We could test your new status if you would like," Morgana countered drily. "It would be simple enough and I would benefit from the exercise a spar would give."

Voldemort considered the proposition carefully before seemingly dismissing it. He moved towards the pedestal, and then – shocking the High Priestess with the brazen and most definitely foolhardy action – dipped his finger into the blood collected there. His head tilted to the side, mulling over a thought unknown to her. Then he gently tipped the chalice. It was barely twenty degrees elevated before he hastily righted the chalice with one hand, the other clutching his heart.

"Satisfied?" Morgana snarked. "How did it feel, to be the downfall of your own mortality by completing such a foolish action?"

Her accomplice's face was ashen, but he seemed to shake the effects off quickly. "I had to know," He murmured.

"And a spar was not dramatic enough for you?"

Silence. Voldemort regarded Morgana through scarlet eyes.

"What of your immortality?"

The High Priestess was unable to control the fearful shudder that thundered through her.

"I have had immortality once. _Never_ again shall I partake."

Her revulsion for the subject surprised even herself – she had not realised her fear and hatred had run so deep. But it quickly turned to anger when Voldemort _laughed_ at her. Laughed at her terror, and mocked her torture.

"Tell me," he sneered throwing her words back at her, "How does it feel, to be the downfall of your own mortality by completing such a foolish action?"

Morgana faced him head-on, and let her anger loose. Her eyes became gold, and the trembles of fear were replaced by tremors of power. She opened her mouth to begin a rebuttal of such magnitude that the Dark Lord would become metaphorical cinders before she was done, but she was thwarted. For the High Priestess was vulnerable after having expended so much energy earlier by completing the ritual and she had not prepared for the meeting. The wrath of the Triple Goddess thundered through her, forcing her mind open in order for the message to be clear –

The Queen of Camelot stumbled back and vomited. But there was nothing left in her stomach bar the multitude of litres of water she had consumed in preparation for the ritual. As the liquid was forced up, it was suspended, and then arranged to form a thin film in the air. And upon that film, the vision that Morgana received played out.

* * *

 **Three Days**

The Office was silent as the Headmaster surveyed the Warlock over his half-moon glasses. Merlin stared right back deliberately limiting the number of times he blinked to unsettle his opponent. Yet Dumbledore was undeterred and so the silent battle of wills lasted for several minutes before the Warlock grew bored. He yawned, and the Headmaster sat back in his chair, seemingly satisfied at winning the dominance contest. Inwardly, Merlin snorted: the man was a fool to think his power plays would work on _him._

"What is it you wished to see me about, Mister Ambrosia?"

"I wish to leave the castle this weekend."

"There is a Hogsmeade outing this weekend I believe." Dumbledore chuckled. "The sweet shop shall be very busy I fear."

"I wish not to visit Hogsmeade, but instead, to travel further afield."

"Indeed?" The Headmaster's eyebrows rose. "Unless there is a good reason, I am afraid that shall be quite impossible."

Lowering his voice and biting his lip nervously to help portray a student overcome with anxiety, Merlin said: "I cannot stay in the Castle this weekend, Headmaster. I had thought myself quite strong enough but –" he trailed off as he remembered the vision of Morgana and Voldemort with the Cup. Why had she used it now, mere days before one of the most potent days of the year, unless it was a vision of what was to come?

"But?" Dumbledore prompted gently.

"The power of the Old Religion is too great. It calls me sir, and I _must_ answer it. Samhein is important to us, more so than we think, particularly for me. I must answer the summons, and in order to do so I must travel."

"You cannot celebrate the festivities within the grounds of Hogwarts?"

Merlin was already shaking his head. "The magic here is not of our own. It has been tainted. Truth be told, it makes me rather ill. I think it is because of the close proximity of the holiday when Old Magic grows momentarily stronger. No, I must go."

Dumbledore stroked his beard in contemplation.

"Will you be alone?"

Merlin did not hesitate with his reply, the truth rolling easily off his tongue.

"No, Headmaster."

"I thought you were the last."

A probing statement innocently clad. A naive person would have taken the bait, but not the Warlock. He stood to leave, his work here done. The Headmaster had given his permission, in his round-a-bout way, and the Warlock was not going to stand for further interrogation. He had little patience for it today.

He turned to leave. "Despite that being a rather insensitive question Headmaster, I shall answer it regardless. One is never alone, even when the room is empty, and the hearth is cold. The Goddess will always be there to guide you home, even when you do not know where to seek it."

* * *

 **Two Days**

"I told you not to go."

"I acknowledge that I conceded to you, but times change. I have knowledge now, and it guides me to leave school in order to fully understand it."

The Natural Seer's eyes were hard, yet there was a soft line to her mouth as if what she was about to say grieved her in some way.

"As have I. You must leave now, and not return until four days have passed."

Merlin frowned. "'Tis a rather sudden change of mind, Seer. What has the Triple Goddess bestowed upon thee?"

"Nothing." The answer was plaintive, filled to the brim with the truth. And yet, the Ravenclaw would not meet his eyes, and she worried the threads of her old jumper, one sleeve already half unravelled.

"Luna..." Merlin began gently.

" _No._ If you stay, then you'll have to make a choice, and then you'll make the wrong one. You _have_ to go."

"And she told you this?"

Luna half hunched her shoulders inwards, almost as if she was attempting to make herself a smaller target for his ire, which was none apparent. Yet she lifted her head anyway, her eyes searching to meet his defiantly.

"Yes."

Merlin huffed and flopped back down onto the grass with a sigh. He turned his head towards the Ravenclaw, half squinting from the October sun blazing down upon them which the girl only partly blotted out due to her slender figure. Nearby, Orlaithe was pecking about on the surrounding thick grass. For one who should not entirely relish the idea of going outside in the broad daylight when she should have been sleeping, she was surprisingly enjoying her day out. Although Merlin reflected as he watched her appreciatively, mayhap the reason for her sudden change in mindset was due to the sunlight doing wonders for her colouring, setting the feathers off so that she was like a burning flame.

"Your powers are growing stronger Witchling."

"You shall teach me your ways of Old Magic when you return."

"Oh?" Merlin said amused. "Is that a prophecy or a promise?"

Her lips twitched as the Warlock injected some levity back into the situation. "Both."

At that moment, seemingly deciding that she was not receiving enough attention, Orlaithe hopped over, and presented her head for Luna to pet, squawking loudly when Merlin attempted to ravish her. The remaining tension disappeared, and the two started laughing.

It had been pure happenstance that the little trio had assembled. Merlin had been visiting his familiar in the Owlery to give her a checkup. For it was to his shame that he had completely forgotten about Orlaithe absorbing all of the Old Magic Luna had been emitting that fateful day in the Hospital Wing. Indeed, he had only remembered after knocking over a jar of honey in one of his potion making sessions with Snape. He had become bewitched by the golden liquid slowly seeping into the wooden table, the act reminding of an event he had seen once before, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He had barely begun to examine her when Luna had arrived and demanded they speak outside, reassuring him with the afterthought that Orlaithe had not been negatively affected – far from it.

Eventually, they quietened down. Absentmindedly, Luna turned the page of her paper, one Merlin recognised her father to have ownership of. She had not been fully paying attention – the now customary pencil accessory which usually adorned her ear was in use, and she had been scribbling absentmindedly on the edges. Without the useful appendage pinning back her hair, her long blond locks fell in waves around her face. Merlin wished he had one of these new-fangled cameras in order to take a picture of her – with Orlaithe strutting about without heed in front of Luna, the avian often became draped with her hair, and it made for rather amusing sight.

"What does your father say?"

"He says that something is coming," Luna murmured distractedly. "And that they're almost here, after embarking from a long journey – or is it the voyage henceforth?"

"It all sounds rather vague," Merlin commented.

The Seer nodded. "It's quite hard to track the creatures you see. They never end up quite where you want them to be."

Orlaithe whistled and flapped her wings in the girl's face.

"Orlaithe!" Merlin admonished, sweeping his arm to make her move. "Don't be rude!"

The bird squawked and made to flap her wings again. Before she could, however, a shadow fell over them, and she was narrowly missed by a school bag which suddenly appeared sailing through the air, only just missing both Orlaithe and Luna by mere inches.

"Sorry – I didn't hurt anyone did I?" Neville said anxiously.

The voice came from behind Merlin so he swivelled, to find the round-faced boy sprawled on the ground a few feet away, a large stone by his feet the clear culprit to the Gryffindor's predicament.

"Don't worry – you missed."

"What are you doing on the floor Neville?" Luna asked curiously. "Have you found a Blibbering Humdinger? They were around here earlier – I heard them laughing at my earrings."

"Uh-n-no I don't think so. I just tripped on a rock, I think."

"Oh." Luna seemed crestfallen.

"Can I – m-may I join you?" It was clear Neville was uncomfortable with the request, but the Ravenclaw seemed not to notice.

"Of course!" Luna beamed, waving her hand out to indicate a clear spot next to her. "We were just talking about Merlin leaving."

"You're _leaving_?" Neville asked, in an almost panicked way. He promptly turned bright red at the scrutiny he received and took the opportunity to grab his bag to hide his face from view.

"Only for the weekend, old chap. I shall return henceforth on the Monday morn, refreshed, rejuvenated, and ready for action!"

Luna seemed sceptical.

"Oh. I was going to offer to show you around Hogsmeade." Neville mumbled his face so crimson he looked like a tomato.

Merlin was silenced.

"I-"

"It's just that Dean and Seamus are together, Harry's in detention and Ron and Hermione just won't stop arguing and Lavender and Pavarti just giggle and –"

"I'll go with you Neville," Luna said happily, interrupting the poor boy's hasty excuse. "It'll be nice to go with a friend. I've never really had one."

Neville studiously avoided her eyes. "Th-thank you."

Merlin smiled. Seemed like there was going to be some good from him leaving the school after all.

* * *

 **One Day**

"Now are you sure-"

"Yes, Professor," Merlin said patiently. He gave the Head of Gryffindor a warm smile. "I'm certain I shall be fine. Once I can taste the outdoors and magic of old I shall feel a great deal better. Once Samhain has passed, it shall become bearable for me to return to the school."

McGonagall pursed her lips, her disbelief was evident.

"Mind that you return by eleven Monday morning."

"I _shall_ , Professor. Indeed, I am also aware of your fire being lit in case I return via Floo."

Madame Pomfrey interceded, frowning all the while. "Do not dismiss Professor McGonagall's misgivings, Mister Ambrosia! Now, when you return I require you to see me _immediately_ in the Hospital Wing for a checkup _. No excuses_."

Inwardly, the Warlock sighed. "Yes, ma'am."

She fussed over him for a few more minutes, before Professor McGonagall cough gently.

"It's best to let him leave, Poppy before the night draws on any further. We've spent too much time here as it is. I do not know how long Peeves can cause a distraction."

Merlin's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You enlisted _Peeves_ for my cause Professor? You, who is one of the highest authorities here at the Castle?"

"If you would prefer the High Inquisitor-"

Merlin backtracked quickly. "Oh I wasn't questioning your methods, Professor - I was merely expressing my approval."

"Hmm." McGonagall looked over him one final time, her thin lips pressed together. "You must leave now, Mister Ambrosia before I change my mind."

"Yes, Professor!" He smiled, before turning to head out of the Entrance Hall.

It was dark outside, the ground lit only by the faint light that the half moon gave off. Even though Merlin had visited Hogwarts many times over the centuries, for some reason, the grounds seemed foreboding that night. Orlaithe ruffled her feathers uneasily and chirped quietly from her position on his shoulder, although whether that was to reassure himself or her, the Warlock knew not. He didn't know how she knew that he was leaving tonight, but as he set off down the drive, her presence was a comfort.

"Come," He said smoothly, "There is nought for us to be fearful of."

He passed the Gamekeeper's hut and continued to press down, the path leading him close to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The walk was steady, the night calm. It was almost peaceful really –

And then he felt somebody, or something watching them.

Almost nonchalantly, Merlin picked up the pace. There was all manner of creatures in the Forbidden Forest, he knew, mainly because it was one of the last sanctuaries that were not affected nor controlled by the Ministry magical beings had. Although the... darker ones had their foothold further inside, far away from the Castle, there was always the possibility –

Orlaithe screamed and took flight, the sound deafening the Warlock due to her previous close proximity with his ears. He knew not why she had done so until he noticed the shadow on the ground. The one that was moving towards him.

The Warlock was flat out running now, and a guttural laugh sounded as something blocked the moonlight. A lesser man would have been scuppered by such an action, but not he. His heightened sense allowed him to –more or less – see the uneven ground in front of him. He was moving quickly now – too quickly.

The shadow moved over him and there was a muted _boom._

Merlin skidded to a stop, mere inches from the monster which had appeared. They turned their head, and luminous light blue orbs appeared, staring at the Warlock trapped in its sight.

"What is it that you run from now, _Emrys_?"

Aithusa stared at the shocked Dragonlord, then threw her head back and laughed.

* * *

 **Wahey! Hope that was okay for the first update in almost two months – honestly, I'm amazed you've all still kept with me.**

 **Now, I do have a favour to ask. One of the stumbling blocks I reached was the relationship between the characters. In this case, it was Luna, as I'm getting a tad muddled with Merlin's Guide timeline versus this one. Therefore, if you guys notice any weird discrepancies between character's relationships, could you point them out to me?**

 **To all the Guest reviewers, thank you for your kind words. I'm sorry about not being able to reply to each of you individually : )**

 **To the Guest reviewer who doodled some fan art - I am SO FLATTERED. Honestly, it's hard to convey my sincerer joy and pride at this, because I cannot believe a simple story of mine goes on to inspire other people. I don't have Tumblr but post it there anyway. Could you maybe review with the link so I can see it and print it out (with your permission of course :) )**

 **Merlin's Bollucks - I hope this satisfies you. May I also just say that I love your name? It's fab honestly.**

 **As always, I wish you a pleasant week. Until next time!**


	19. Samhain: Morning

In the Hands of the Prophesised Vice

Chapter 18 –Samhein: Morning

" _What is it that you run from now, Emrys?"_

 _Aithusa stared at the shocked Dragonlord, then threw her head back and laughed._

"I – _what?"_

The Dragonlord stared at his brethren in disbelief. It should have been impossible that the white dragon was here. He had not called for them, and whilst they had parted not on bad terms, nor was it on pleasant terms either. The last he knew, they had settled somewhere in Australia, soaking up the sun in the desert at the centre of the landmass. Whilst he had not forbidden them to return to Albion, they knew - or at least, they _had_ known better to return unless it was dire circumstances. The tiny island had become overpopulated, and it was too great a chance that some human would spy the winged beasts, and then all hell would break loose.

Aithusa cocked her head to the side. "What is it that you run from now, Emrys?" She repeated.

"Where be Kiligarrah?" Merlin demanded impatiently. "Did he disobey thine orders?"

Aithusa blinked and then yawned nonchalantly. "You did not order us to stray from Albion."

"'Twas _implied,"_ Merlin said in frustration, gripping his hair. Aithusa merely blinked again unaffected by the Dragonlord's ire, before slowly stretching outward, until her claws were on either side of him, forming an enclosure.

" _Now now,"_ Kiligarrah's voice sounded. _"Be thy so fraught that thy forsake manners and play with thy food, fighting?"_

"Reveal thyself, Kiligarrah!" Merlin spoke aloud. "Or are thee too fearful to face thy Lord?"

But his words were swallowed up by Aithusa's indignant roar.

"Flightling I am _not!_ Desist in the embellishment of the petty names you bestow upon me, oh Great One!"

" _Aithusa!"_ Merlin hissed an admonishment, gritting his teeth when he heard the rumble of Kiligarrah's mocking laugh, "Be _quiet._ Hogwarts cannot know that you are here."

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hogwarts," Aithusa muttered childishly. "Who cares about _Hogwarts?"_

" _Now_ you're being infantile," Merlin informed her, ignoring his uncharacteristic hatred of the school. "Yet your companion is not above reproach either. I knew not that you were a coward, oh Great One," He continued, raising his voice slightly as he mocked the white dragon's companion.

" _I am no coward."_

The dragon was angered at Merlin's cruel words. Thus it was no surprise when he appeared, settling down on the other side of Merlin with a small _boom,_ throwing clouds of dust and grass up into the air. Honestly, for one who was twice as old as the Warlock, Kiligarrah was incredibly easy to predict.

"As pleasing to the eye that landing was, I am amused to inform you that 'twas in vain. You shall both relocate to the Forest, and we three shall reconvene once this weekend has passed."

Neither of the Dragons moved.

"I am waiting."

"We are aware." Kiligarrah was amused, his golden eyes twinkling down coldly at the Warlock.

When Aithusa piped up, she sounded like the young hatchling Kiligarrah charged her to be. Her voice was small and tentative as if she was preparing herself for a blow she could not take. "The weekend starts not until two hours hence. Would if you could stay for the while?"

Merlin softened towards her. "If you shall relocate to the Forest –"

But this seemed to be the wrong words to say to the white dragon. "NO!" She rumbled furiously. "The people of Hogwarts do not deserve the solace of their ignorance. We shall stay _here."_

"Aithusa," Merlin warned, but she did not listen.

"They have _no right_ to not fear our presence and the consequences that shall ensure. Our wrath shall be glorious in its destruction -"

But Merlin had had enough. Normally, the dragons policed themselves, but Kiligarrah had gone strangely quiet, and it was apparent that he would be of no help in reigning in his charge. So the Warlock had to.

" _ENOUGH!"_ The guttural words in Merlin's throat came out as a roar. They jerked to attention as his Dragonlord's magic laced his words, the bodies unwillingly betraying them, enslaving them to his words. "I _command_ you _both_ to hide in the Forbidden Forest –"

Aithusa was too quick for Merlin to stop her. She bent forward and _picked up Merlin with her mouth._

Merlin was too astonished to resist, his mouth agape, as the white dragon bounded into the air, taking flight over Hogwarts grounds. Kiligarrah followed immediately after, and they glided over the Forbidden Forest until he found a clearing that was suitable enough for them to habituate. The golden dragon circled over it thrice, discerning that it was indeed empty, before he landed, the white dragon following suit mere moments after.

Gently, Aithusa opened her mouth, and Merlin was freed. She moved back, her posture low as to portray her submission to his will, yet there was a stubborn glint to her eye, and an angry tilt to her head.

"Thou shall leave _not_ ," She stated angrily, "and thou shalt return to the hovel place you foolishly protect and call home."

" _You_ are not the one in charge here, Aithusa, _I_ am. Remember your place, hatchling, and the master whom you serve."

Merlin was breathing heavily, becoming incensed at the stubbornness of his kin. Yet the white dragon still did not back down, and it was becoming clear that perhaps she never would. What had happened to make her behave in such a way?

"Young Warlock –"

"Yield, Kiligarrah! It is clear that in my absence, thou have left your charge to grow wild. No more. I will not take slander on the people of Hogwarts. I shall leave you be, in this clearing, 'til four days hence. Thou shalt move away from this dell, save to further conceal thyselves."

"But-"

" _Silence._ Is that understood Aithusa?"

They both became silent. There was an ugly glint to the white dragon's eye, and she twitched, frustrated that she was magically bound to her position, unable to wreak her havoc as she had done before.

"Thy _children_ shalt hinder me in my quest no more. Thou shall let me leave."

Again, the magic of the Dragonlord lent a swift countenance to the magical undercurrent of his words. His brethren trembled once more as the commands took hold. Merlin regretted what he had done, truly he did, but Aithusa so decidedly threatening Hogwarts and Kiligarrah - whilst remaining quiet - seemingly agreeing with her, led to no other option.

He _had_ to leave the castle grounds. Morgana could not be stupid enough to have used the Cup of Life days before Samhain unless she was privy to prior knowledge. The Triple Goddess had been silent the past few days, only contacting Luna and even then, Merlin remained unsure on how much was the Triple Goddess speaking to the Ravenclaw, and how much was Luna's intuition... or imagination.

Thus Merlin had to travel to the Crystal Cave to see the future for himself. Along the way, he would spend Samhain at either the Isle of the Blest or what was presently known as Stonehenge but was once known as a tiny hamlet named Ealdor.

"I am wretched," he said quietly, "But it must be so. Mark my words: I am gladdened by your arrival, unexpected though it may be, there are tasks I must total to gain more information. I shall explain all soon enough."

They did not respond.

With one last heavy glance, turned his back to his brethren and walked towards the edge of the cleaning. It was possible Aithusa was simply cranky after the long flight – she hated the lectures Kiligarrah bestowed upon her on such occasions – and was taking her ill countenance out on Hogwarts. She had displayed no negative feelings towards the castle before. She usually relished the opportunity of being present around the little ones, whose youth and vitality sought to heal the deep abscess left by her former Mistress. Kiligarrah too could be explained thus, as he found Aithusa's nonchalant attitude irritating.

Merlin was so deep in thought that he dropped his guard. And so, faster than even Merlin's eye could move, faster than he had ever witnessed, Kiligarrah was there, entrapping his Warlock with his claws, blocking his escape.

And breaking loose of the command his _Dragonlord_ had placed upon them both.

The Warlock stared at the dragon, his anger and confusion melting into one another in a swirling mess of emotions.

"But I _commanded_ you – _impossible-_ "

Kiligarrah interrupted him, though his words came out gritted and strained. If it was possible for a dragon to do so, Merlin would swear that he was sweating with the effort.

" _A dragon can resist his lord's command if it means that he is to be saved from harm."_

The ire that rose at his brethren's actions faltered as he heeded the words the Great One uttered.

"I am endangered?" Merlin asked, confused.

Aithusa and Kiligarrah exchanged a significant glance, a silent conversation held between them. There seemed to be amusement there and grief –

Wait. Why was there grief in what they were to say?

The Warlock waited. Neither of them spoke.

Five minutes passed before Merlin remembered that he had commanded them not to speak to him.

"You may speak."

"It is the people of Hogwarts. That is who we protect you from."

"You lie."

"I cannot."

Kiligarrah's reply was simple, and it was clear that he _believed_ it to be so, yet Merlin knew better.

"Fine then. You _manipulate_ the truth."

Kiligarrah twitched violently. If he was allowed free movement, he would be stomping around the glade right now, smoke breathing out of his nostrils at the insult to his word-smithing.

"The idea that the children of Hogwarts would harm me is _inconceivable._ No." Merlin said, shaking his head in disgust. "'Tis a vile action, to incriminate those who are either fledgelings, or those sworn to protect and teach the latter. _I_ built Hogwarts. _I_ would know of their treachery. _How dare you!"_

He broadcasted his full ire to his brethren, and Aithusa was forced to step backwards. She whimpered as she clenched her eyes shut, her teeth bared.

" _Control yourself, Young Warlock!"_

" _Do not patronise me!"_ Merlin mentally yelled.

There was a heart-wrenching cry, and Aithusa opened his mouth, letting out a silent scream. It receded once the momentary throbbing passed. She opened an eye, the icy blue boring into the Warlock. It was filled with pain and the type of malicious wrath that only a dragon could possess.

" _If thy believe us not, Master, then thy shall listen to thy screams."_

She winced as she broadcasted her memory then.

 _HELP ME. I CANNOT SAVE THEM. THE CHILDREN LIE – BROKEN – I CANNOT SAVE MY CHILDREN. THEY BURN US AND MUTILATE US, AND WEAR US AS SKINS. I CANNOT SAVE MY CHILDREN. I CANNOT SAVE MYSELF. HELP ME!_

Merlin's mental screams filled the air, the space between the brethren crackling with raw magic, charged by the emotions they emitted, each one palatable to the others. Suddenly, their actions had made sense. Any sane being would have known Hogwarts to never torture dragons, but after the message he had sent - it was no wonder Aithusa had been so determined to hunt down the people of Hogwarts in retribution for what they had done.

 _HELP ME. I CANNOT SAVE THEM. THE CHILDREN LIE – BROKEN –_

As the message repeated, his magic began to fluctuate as he remembered what he had felt. When he had to wear the skins of his brethren –

" _Stop."_ He pleaded.

Cruelly, Aithusa didn't listen.

 _I CANNOT SAVE MY CHILDREN._

"Stop. Aithusa, desist!"

His cries rang out for a final time, and then the glade grew silent again. Aithusa eyed her Lord warily, but it was Kiligarrah who spoke first.

"Do not doubt us, Warlock. We did not lie." Even in the most emotional of fuelled meetings, the dragon still found the opportunity to boast of his prowess. If it had been a more normal occasion, Merlin would have rolled his eyes, perhaps smiled. But he had not the energy to complete such an action, for all of a sudden he felt drained, lifeless.

Like his brethren that he had been forced to wear.

"They are innocent in their actions." He began quietly, his voice hoarse. "They knew not what they were doing. There is no elaborate scheme to – to –" he broke a little then, and elected to omit the phrase. They both knew what he meant anyway. "I bid detention by the Potions Master. The punishment: to sort out flobberworms utilising dragon-hide gloves."

Kiligarrah hissed whilst Aithusa visibly flinched.

"It was the first time I had had such an occasion to use them. Understand, the previous time I attended Hogwarts, they were the possession of the elite, and thus I had the option not to wear them. But now – now they are compulsory."

Merlin looked up – he hadn't realised he had been staring at the ground as he recalled his uncomfortable recollections – to meet the eyes of his brethren. "Was that the only message I sent?"

Kiligarrah cocked his head, aghast. "The heathens made you wear them more than _once?"_

"Thrice, over two nights. The third, I could no longer control myself and I erupted. That must have been when I called you. Ye that was over two sennights ago – where have you been?"

Aithusa grumbled at this a little, but as usual, the golden dragon was the one who responded

"We are older now, Young Warlock," Kiligarrah said and as if to prove his point, he shifted from his stance to lie down fully, one of the few times that he had ever done so in front of Merlin. Aithusa scoffed again in disagreement. "Great distances cannot be tread as we once used to."

"The mortals mass has grown," Aithusa added. "They cover nearly all of the land now. Only moving at night unless severe storms or worse occurred hinders travel. We are lucky to have arrived thus early. There were sandstorms in Woestyn and Pitjantjatjara -"

"Pardon?"

"Pitjantjatjara," she repeated. "So-"

"The Goddess _please_ not another bout of Whooping Cough," Merlin muttered after she coughed again.

He moved forward to investigate. Dragons of the Old Religion couldn't catch colds. Instead, they caught the more ... _variant_ strains such as 'Telepath's Migraine' (where it is transmitted through speech so you receive their pain _plus_ your own at the same time) or 'Dragon Pox' which Wizard King could also receive or-

"You don't have the Whooping Cough _again_ , do you?" He continued, concerned. The last time she had managed to catch _that_ particular illness, every time she coughed, it broke through the sound barrier causing all glass objects within a two hundred mile radius to shatter, although the Protestants who had just taken over didn't seem to mind. Indeed, they seemed to find it helpful that many of the stained glass windows had been so easily dealt with.

"There is nought ailing her bar her brain," Kiligarrah grumbled, turning one of his gold eyes towards his Lord. "She's merely being immature and calling the desert one of its more ridiculous names instead of what humans refer to as the 'Outback'."

"Pitjantjatjara is the original name Kiligarrah!" Aithusa protested. "All I'm doing is taking the lecture that you gave to me twelve hundred years ago wisely. My fault it is not if the Aborigines like long words!"

"That may be, but they still would not have named the settlement 'Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateapokaiwhenuakitanatahu' if you had not broadcasted." Kiligarrah rebuked sternly. "You deserved the lecture hatchling, and indeed you still do."

"Not a _four hour_ one."

"Regardless, we came. What occurred after the torture?"

"I became unconscious and burned the gloves... and the office at the same time. I briefly came to, to extinguish the fires with the water from the Black Lake – which reminds me that I still haven't apologised to the Merpeople nor the Giant Squid for." Merlin pulled a face. "When I revived once more, I was in the hospital wing. The staff now know that I am of the Old Religion, though they think it because of my status of a Druid, and not because of my identity."

"Thy and thee's secret identity," Aithusa sighed looking away into the forest, seemingly growing bored with the conversation. "I cannot understand why you are not free with thyself."

"Is that all?" The golden dragon asked, with narrowed eyes, completely ignoring what his companion had just said.

"No. There is one other: a girl named Luna. She is surprisingly perceptive. I am still not sure entirely what it is she knows of me – I think she knows not either."

"There be always one who sees more than she should."

"That's the problem," Merlin began slowly. "She _does_ see more than she should. And hears, I thinks, also."

The white dragon whirled back around to face her master, picking up on the subtext immediately.

"This girl is a Seer?"

"A new magic one, of that there is no doubt." Kiligarrah contested. "There is nought special with _that."_

"Thou are wrong," Aithusa replied, watching Merlin carefully.

"A fellow child of Druidic ascent then, albeit faint. Druids who mated with either new magical or non-magical people of blood will have weakened their bloodline by doing so. Their children will be able to wield new magic to a greater scale, but they will not be able to hold the old. And Druids who still have a pure bloodline are few and far between, and they will not send their children off to a school to learn a magic which they cannot control."

Kiligarrah dismissed the suggestion immediately. Merlin smiled.

"What if she is neither? What if she was born from a pure new magic line?"

"Then she is weak and powerless, a babe of the world."

Aithusa's eyes glowed with hope.

" _Or,"_ Merlin offered, "She is a Natural Born Seer of the Old Religion."

"A Seer," Kiligarrah repeated in surprise, lifting his head off his paws, surveying the Dragonlord with one gold eye. "Born in this century? You jest."

"I jest not. Not only was she born, but she is strong too."

"Oooh," Aithusa squealed, sounding like a little Hatchling that the Warlock still sometimes saw her as. "Another Seer!"

The white dragon vibrated with excitement, causing the tree that she was touching with her tail to shiver violently, looking as if it was having a fit. Merlin and Kiligarrah exchanged glances as they saw her display. The white dragon always had a soft spot for Seers, of whatever power and quality ever since she had bonded with Morgana and sometimes, it had lead to... _situations._

"In fact," The Dragonlord spoke again, turning his attention to the only one who remained characteristically sceptical of the whole situation. "She predicted you guys coming."

"Show us!" Aithusa pleaded, her obsession with Seers meaning that she always wanted to see a prophecy being predicted that would come true.

"I wasn't there when she made it," The Warlock told her apologetically. "Or rather, I did not witness the spectacle. My eyes were closed at the time."

"Has she made others?"

Merlin hesitated. "I... do not know. She has hosted the Goddess at least twice now and has uttered some rather complexing statements at others, but it is difficult to determine whether they are of the future or her own machinations. Being a child of the new magic, she rationalised the old via rather peculiar coping mechanisms."

"I wish to meet this girl. The only other Seer who could resist to Prophesise in your presence was Morgana."

Her tone turned wistful towards the end as she spoke of her prior guardian. Once more, the remainder exchanged glances. 'Twas clear that her infatuation for the likenesses of Morgana had not lessened over the centuries.

"That does not speak of power. That speaks of confusion."

"Let us decide that for ourselves. Show us your recollections, Merlin, please."

"If you so desire."

Merlin's eyes flew open and at once, the connection between the Dragonlord and his brethren broke, releasing them from his memories that he had shown.

"Why have we returned?"

"I did not break the connection."

"Nor I," Agreed Merlin.

The Warlock watched as the latter stiffened, his golden scales gleaming in the light of the not-quite full moon.

"Something is amiss." Kiligarrah intoned.

"I feel it too," Aithusa said as she breathed in. She cocked her head. "There is an archaic taste to the air. Ancient is here."

It hit Merlin then like a brick, and he had to take a step backwards as the magic called to his memories, selecting certain recollections and sending them to the forefront.

"It's Samhain," Aithusa, completing the Gold Dragon's statement.

 _Samhain. It's Samhain._

The words echoed around Merlin's head and the hairs on the back of his head suddenly rose.

"Something's not right," He whispered and realisation flooded him.

" _Something is approaching, Emrys. Hiding in the shadows, waiting for the time to strike like before. On the day when the light of dawn shall arrive bright and golden in nature, and Loyalty dies, three will come to call." Anhora stood there, regal with his staff in one hand, the other resting on the Herd Leader, calmly surveying him._

" _What does your father say?"_

" _He says that something is coming," Luna murmured distractedly. "And that they're almost here, after embarking from a long journey – or is it the voyage henceforth?"_

The cries of _Emrys_ that he had heard, and the whispers of _long live the King_ that he had thought he had imagined -

Morgana's vision. Firenze's prophecy.

" _The day will start with a dawn,_

 _Complete with gold,_

 _And everything is fine._

 _Two visitors come,_

 _The third is near,_

 _For now you feel no fear._

 _But this is the Day when Loyalty died,_

 _So Magic arrives with a choice;_

 _Fulfil the task you once held dear,_

 _Or let Darkness conquer Light._

 _But be warned, Lord Emrys,_

 _Tr_ _ead cautious,_

 _And tread wise;_

 _For one thing is certain in all of the fear;_

 _This will end in Love's Demise."_

The golden dragon wheeled around to face him. "Young Warlock, you are required at the Castle. She is there to meet you."

"Who – Luna?"

If a dragon could smile, Kiligarrah would have done so then, a soft, gentle one.

"No, my Lord. You must go, and see for yourself."

 **Whip whap whop I hope that wasn't a flop. Now, unfortunately, I am going to France for a week. However, I have recently redownloaded the Fanfiction app and found that you can FINALLY publish stories from that. Wahey! So I'll work out how to download the chapter onto my phone and work at it on that so that you guys can read it.**

 **Have a lush week!**

 **: )**

 **P.S. Doodling Guest: I refound my tumble but I don't know how to use it. I LOVE your art and I did try to tell you but I don't know what all the buttons meant so I think I might have done something else to it instead. Sorry if I embarrassed you : )**


	20. Samhain: Third Visitor

**Wahey! Now, I shall say that the next few chapters shall be very close to the originals. But, on the plus side that also means that (hopefully!) they should be up quicker, as I will delete a lot of sections. The main edit will be to the speech of the characters in order to keep in with their characteristics. Yet, that does mean that the chapters shall be a lot shorter, which I apologise for.**

In the Hands of a Prophesised Vice

Chapter Nineteen – Samhain: The Third Visitor

 **Merlin's POV**

 _She is there to meet you._

As he ran, his feet pounding on the ground, his passing marked by the cracking of twigs which lay on the ground and the whiplash from branches he shoved out of his way, a fragile hope bloomed in his breast.

 _She is there to meet you._

Kiligarrah's voice had been so soft, so kind and gentle. As if he had known of happiness that was forthcoming to Merlin, one in relation to a lady -

No.

It cannot be her.

With his luck and the Goddess' cruelty - no, it would not be _her._ She was too far from her dwelling, and the tainted magic would be toxic to her, would poison her. The Goddess had never been kind to him during the millennia they had spent together and she would not start now. Yet, if there was to be a day of all days that they would be allowed to reconcile, then surely it would be on the day of the dead?

But then he heard it, and his hopes were dashed beyond reprieve. As the children of Hogwarts were screaming.

His eyes burnished gold, and as he pounded the few remaining steps up to the castle, his clothing began to change. Gone were the emerald corduroy trousers and navy open laced shirt. Instead, a burnt orange robe flowed behind him, the colour contrasting greatly with the moonlight hair which grew quickly from both his scalp and his chin. His gait shortened and as he made his way into the entrance hall, his footsteps were accompanied by a resounding boom from the Sidhe King's staff he had summoned hitting the floor.

He had no choice now: he couldn't risk the children knowing his true identity this early on into the game, and none of Merlin's compatriots would cause them to scream. If he had to march into battle on this day, then at least he would retain some thread of anonymity. His back suddenly began hurting and so he began to stoop.

It was the signal that his aging was now complete. The screams still hadn't stopped and so it was with a deep breath that Merlin took the last step forward and threw open the doors.

* * *

Immediately the great hall became silent. Yet as the students beheld the sudden appearance of the old man, mutters began between students, some words of comfort, other words of terror. The Professors on the dais (thank goodness Umbridge wasn't there) – who had all risen out of their chairs – were equally as startled and there was some confusion as to which intruder they should level their wands at.

For there was another intruder. Reflexively, Merlin's eyes widened in disbelief, but the reaction was only momentary as he clamped down, resolving not to show any emotion that could be beheld as weakness. The partial confidence he had felt as he came to the castle's aid had gone now that he saw who her, which was aided further by her expectant gaze as he continued to stride towards the centre of the hall where she stood. Time had seemingly stopped by her arrival, the passing of it only marked by his staff clinking against the flagstones with every step.

It took too long for him to reach her.

Merlin passed Neville bending over a petite form, who was revealed to be Luna when the boy grunted and picked her up. The Seer was unconscious, her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she was pale. For a second, he hesitated at her side, indecisiveness clouding his thinking.

"Witchling –" he began softly.

Neville snarled, and shoved him away, causing Luna to almost fall to the floor.

"S-stay away."

People gasped, some leaning forward expectantly to see what his reaction would be. The boy himself paled as he realised the potential ramifications of what he had done, but his resolve quickly hardened. But Merlin simply continued to walk on, leaving his Seer behind. Neville was sensible – he would bring her to either Madame Pomfrey or Hermione - and would ensure no harm would come to his charge. In the corner of his eye, Merlin saw some of the Slytherins looking disappointed. Most notably Malfoy; who had slumped with dejection when Neville was let be, disappointment painting his face beautifully. A slight snort escaped him at the inappropriate reaction: were there no limits to Malfoy' immaturity? The levity soon faded however, when he felt the cold emitting from the emptiness.

"Emrys," She said, performing a bow from the waist in acknowledgement.

"My greetings, Cailleach," The Ancient Warlock replied, gifting a short but perfunctory bow in return.

He knew not why she was here and thus would treat her accordingly: with respectful wariness. It was a fine line to walk on, for if he did not demonstrate enough respect, she would be wote to smite him. Yet, if he showed too much, then he could be obliged to perform a favour for herd due to the amount of deferencehe had shown. She had not changed since he had last seen her all those centuries ago. She wore a long dark cloak, ripped as if the souls that she had taken tried to fight back. Her staff was in her right hand, in a mirror image of him. Her face was pale with huge bloodshot shadows under her eyes. Yet despite her frightening appearance, it was her eyes which bore her true emotional state:

Pain.

"Time has been kind to thee since the year which we met."

"One is not partial to flattery, Emrys. Mock me not."

Merlin bowed his head in supplication. "Though it was not my intention to mock thee, I ask for forgiveness. I merely meant to acknowledge our long separation."

She eyed him wearily, then said: "Indeed, it has been lengthy since cause I have had enough to visit this mortal world."

A miniscule betrayal on his side as he frowned slightly.

"Cause? What cause brings you to this land of nurslings in a time of little faith? It must be great indeed to warrant such a journey."

She paused, as if choosing her words carefully. When she spoke, her voice belayed her true age, the tone one of the very depths of the earth, and the age of time. "The same as to why all creatures of old are converging."

"That is not an answer."

"Why have thee come to this polluted place, Emrys?"

"You know why."

"Thus lies thy answer."

Merlin scoffed. "Enough. I have had enough with word games from prophecies, I will _not_ suffer more. Meddle in new magic one would not, for it is like poison to thee. No. I demand the truth to be declared!"

"It should be answer enough, lest time has eased thy mind. If thy heeds the prophets, then thy have knowledge of why I have come." She paused. "I have come to bequeath a gift and a warning."

Yet the Ancient Warlock remained sceptical. It was inconceivable that the Gatekeeper would come of her own violation: she would have been sent by the Triple Goddess, and he had learnt over the years that what _she_ considered a gift and what _he_ considered a gift were two rather different concepts. His resentment caught the better of him, and it shone in his words.

"What you offer is no endowment if a soul was taken in order for it to be gifted. Who did you take in order to come to me?"

"It is a foolish man who decides the speech of those they converse with."

"The soul, Cailleach." Merlin warned.

"A girl, sold into slavery. I eased her suffering. I was kind."

"You choose wisely."

 _For once_ lingered in the air between them. He had never forgiven her for accepting the sacrifice of Lancelot. It seemed that she knew it too, for an unsympathetic smile adorned her face, flavoured with a hint of immortality.

"Thee is impudent in thy loneliness, Emrys. Loyalty choose willingly to part the Veil, just as he willingly guards the King, even now. One was even granted a kindness."

Merlin's ire sparked and his eyes flashed amber as she referenced Lancelot's return to the living. There was a gasp in the hall when the students beheld the strange phenomenon, causing him to halt the spell that was on his lips. He had forgotten that they had an audience. The Cailleach had not however, and she smirked slightly in victory. It faded however, as the Veil pulsed behind her.

"Time grows short. One's strength is sapped in this pit of plague and the night shall not last much longer. Thee would be wise to hear one's proposal before they reject it, such a gift so powerful it be."

"Then so be it."

"I bestow upon thee a life, on my bid that thee return one unto me."

The Ancient Warlock was incredulous, and ever so slightly confused. Yet that spark of hope flared in his chest again at the possible implications, the possibilities – But no, he must be cautious. He would never be forgiven if he sacrificed a suckling or an innocent in order to return the life of another.

"Who?"

His voice was croaky, belaying his nervousness.

"Bring me the murderess. Bring me the witch who escaped your eternal judgement. Bring me the charlatan who calls herself the High Priestess. That is the price that thee must pay."

It hit him like a brick, and he didn't realise he had lost feelings in his legs until his knees hit the stone flagons with a _crack._

 _Arthur._

Merlin said his name again and again, but no sound escaped his lips. He had no air in his lungs, yet he did not care. He didn't have to wait any longer. He could see Arthur again, his _brother_ again. He will be beside his King again as Arthur strives for all to accept magic. The two sides of the coin reunited –

" _NO!"_

The scream penetrated the silence. For the second time since his entrance, Merlin forgot that they had had an audience the entire now. Now it seemed, they had finally discovered their voices – or at least one of them had anyway. He was still disorientated after the revelation and he couldn't pinpoint the culprit, yet the voice was familiar he was sure of it –

Then Luna staggered into view, seemingly having gain conscious at some point during the conversation. The Ravenclaw was deathly pale, strands of her dirty blonde hair sticking to her face as she wobbled down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw table. Behind her was Neville, the boy simultaneously petrified, concerned and confused. It was an adorable compilation really. Or it would be, if the situation was different.

The Cailleach looked upon her with detached curiosity, rather like a child would upon a woodlouse. This did not deter Luna however as she resolutely swayed her way towards Merlin, ignoring the Gatekeeper completely.

"You cannot."

"Why?" Merlin's voice was quiet, engaging her in a conversation that only the three of them were privy to.

Luna's face twisted as she struggled to articulate her feelings.

"I _told_ you. I told you to leave Hogwarts, and not return for four days. You're going to make the wrong choice! _"_

A spark ignited within him and the beginnings of anger stirred within the Ancient Warlock as the full implications of what Luna said hit him.

"You _knew?"_ He said slowly. _"_ You knew that the Cailleach would come, and that Arthur would return? You knew and yet you tried to trick me?"

"No I didn't know –" Luna began to plead hunching inwardly, but Merlin cut her off.

"How _dare_ you try and impede me and mine. What right do thee have to judge _me?_ Seer of the Old Religion thee maybe, but thee has _no_ right to dictate my actions. I am magic incarnate. She has always been my destiny, as I have always been her doom. I thought I had punished her enough for what she had done. Yet _you_ stand before me, and demand I spare her. _Her,_ who killed my King?"

He was panting for the time he had finished, flecks of gold sparking in his eyes. He calmed down slightly as he read her posture.

"What have you seen?"

"I – I'm not sure. They contradict each other so, each voice louder than the other."

"Then how can you know that the wrong choice is not to let her walk free. Do you wish for a murderess to haunt your world?"

"No but –"

"Then I am doing you a favour. A public service, really."

"If you kill a murderer than you become a murderer."

Merlin chuckled, the sound slow and full of darkness.

"Oh child. I already am one. That argument is void to me, but then you already knew that, did you not?"

She was becoming desperate now.

"You're going to steal her _soul."_

"In retribution for her stealing the soul of my King and my fellow brothers. If I do not do this, Witchling, then I am failing my destiny and failing my King. And above all else, I cannot fail Arthur. Not again.

Whatever Luna was about to say next was interrupted by the Cailleach.

"The night has come and the King has risen. My time is short. Speak Emrys, and decide, for I am little for this world longer."

Merlin bowed his head in acquiescence. He turned towards Luna.

"I'm sorry."

The Seer's face twisted into one borne of malice and rage and regret.

" _Then let darkness conquer light,"_ She snarled.

Merlin ignored her and returned to face the Cailleach. When he spoke again, his tongue felt light and his soul felt free.

"I accept my gift."

* * *

 **I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! As a weird tidbit, my favourite line in this is chapter is** _ **It is a foolish man who decides the speech of those they converse with**_ **as I think it sums up a lot of the idiots you meet out there.**

 **Hope you all have a lush holiday! : )**

 **Thank you for all your reviews**


	21. Samhain: Aftermath

**Apologies for the late of this chapter! I recently started and finished a TESOL course (teaching English as a second language) which was very time consuming and somewhat draining – it's given me MAJOR respect for teachers. Additionally, I was really struggling with the chapter – I was essentially just rewriting the old one, and I felt like this story has lost some of its spark with me doing that as it's become rather boring, so I've mixed it up a little to help remedy that : )**

* * *

In the Hands of the Prophesized Vice

Chapter Twenty – Samhain: Aftermath

"Wait – is that Myrddin?"

"Yeah and I'm Ron. Who bloody cares?"

Hearing his name, the Warlock in question glanced up from his breakfast, to find Hermione staring at him, whilst Ron and Harry looked on with confusion.

"It _is_ him! Come on."

The witch led her friends excitedly down the table to Merlin, who dutifully shoved his bag off the bench in order to make room for them. Harry gave him a smile in thanks and sat beside him, immediately piling his plate with sausages and eggs.

"Still don't understand what all the fuss is about." Ron grumbled. "We see him every day."

"Honestly Ronald," Hermione said with exasperation as the ginger took the seat on the other side of the Warlock. She pondered the scene for a moment, before taking everybody by surprise by squeezing underneath the table and popping up on the other side, leading her hair to become even more dishevelled than usual. Sitting down opposite the Warlock in question as if nothing untoward had occurred, she continued with the admonishment: "Don't you notice _anything?"_

"Try the hash browns, they're lovely and crisp today," Harry said hastily, popping four of the aforementioned food stuffs onto the ginger's plate, who promptly forgot what he had been saying.

"Where were you this weekend? You were nowhere to be found and believe me, I looked. Ron and Harry said you never went to bed –"

"Did we?" Harry muttered to himself, but quickly cowered before the Witch's burning gaze, returning his attention to his breakfast, which now included a stack of pancakes complete with sugar and lemon.

"Leaving the grounds was _completely_ irresponsible of you Myrddin! What if Umbridge had found out? You've already been in so much trouble – she would have had grounds to suspend you-"

Merlin snorted. "Ha, good one Hermione! I knew not that you had it in you."

Hermione, not appreciating the pun that she had made, simply glared at the offending student. He sighed and set down his cutlery, before reaching for a napkin to dab at his lips.

"I had to leave the castle for a few days – with the Headmaster's permission of course. Time sensitive issues regarding my Uncle's will had arisen, of which my presence was required in order to smooth out."

Hermione was rather taken aback. "Oh," She said awkwardly.

Thankfully, their impromptu gathering was saved from further gauche by McGonagall, who had some point during the interrogation had swept down from the high table to descend upon her students. She appeared behind the Warlock, her presence marked by the clipped question:

"Mister Ambrosia, if you could come with me?"

Feeling a rush of gratitude to her for rescuing him from the awkwardness, Merlin half turned in his seat eagerly to face her, ignoring the stares of his breakfast companions.

"Certainly, Professor."

The bench screeched as he pushed it back in order to stand before her, causing everybody in the nearby vicinity to wince. The sudden motion caused Ron to burst his fried egg, yolk squirting onto his shirt, most likely staining it. Although her lips quirked, the tension remained in her face, the cause of which stood before her. "After you, Madam."

The girls further down the table tittered at his outstretched arm and perfect posture. As the Professor stepped past him, Merlin following, their admiring whispers of his form and manner carried to almost the exit of the hall, much to his pride.

"I assure you that you are not in trouble, Mister Ambrosia. At least, only to the same degree as everybody else."

"Whilst ominous, that is also most comforting to hear."

Her lips pinched and she sniffed. Although silent, her thoughts on the subject were clear. They passed the main staircase, instead electing to take the corridor to the west wing of the castle. Whilst it was surprising that they had were not traversing toward the Professor's office, or even the Headmaster's, he supposed that it made more sense to meet on the ground floor.

After all, Merlin was not entirely sure how well a centaur could climb stairs.

They arrived at classroom eleven, Professor McGonagall knocking lightly on the door to announce their presence. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could do so the door was opened by none other than Firenze.

"Good morning, Professor, Mister Ambrosia."

"Myrddin, this is Firenze, who is the Divination Professor here at Hogwarts. Firenze, this is Myrddin."

"Whilst the introduction is kind, there is no need. We are already well acquainted with one another." Merlin told the Professor.

Her eyebrows rose slightly, but she didn't say anything and merely watched as Merlin nodded to Firenze, who nodded back. Greetings finished, they moved into the room. Today, the classroom was emulating the forest at dawn, with long shadows and excited bird calls heralding the new day. Whilst Merlin had expected Dumbledore to also attend this clandestine gathering, the addition of Snape and Sprout surprised him, the latter a jarring figure against the pleasant background.

"Ah, Mister Ambrosia!" Dumbledore said merrily from his position of perching against a well worn rock. "I'm glad you could make it. Please, sit down. The grass is looking quite lovely, but alas, I am too old to sit on the floor, for I fear I could never get up!"

He chuckled, his blue eyes twinkling it the rising sun. Snape scowled with distaste, whilst McGonagall's lips tightened. In contrast, Professor Sprout promptly sat down, sighing with happiness as the luxurious grass surrounded her, quite clearly in her element. First setting down his bag, Merlin elected to join her, his suspicions proved as the soft grass enveloped him.

"Why, I do think the grass has grown thicker around you," the Herbology Professor observed suddenly, with a hint of excitement.

"I might just have sat in –"

"No, no I don't think so. Look – the flowers!"

Tiny daisies and buttercups were sprouting and growing and blooming around him, all seemingly orientated towards him. As the gazes of everybody landed heavily on him, Merlin swallowed, uncomfortable with the attention. Whilst it was relieving in a way for them to know his connection to Old Religion, it did not mean that he could relax completely. He frowned as he concentrated, drawing his magic even further in. It coiled up tightly, almost immediately causing his skin to itch due to the power pent up within him.

"Oh, there's no need for that!" Professor Sprout cried out with disappointed as the growth stopped, eyeing her student with sadness. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable – I apologise if I did so. I simply think it's remarkable – and wonderful."

He gave a half-smile in return, but did not waver in his decision to limit himself. There was time enough for him to nurture nature later: he had to concentrate now, to answer the interrogation that no doubt awaited him with trustworthy ease.

"If I'm honest with you," Sprout leaned over as conversation began again, small talk and little pleasantries floating through the air due to Firenze's sudden absence delaying the start of the meeting. "I'm jealous."

Merlin blinked at her candid statement. "You are?"

She gave a gentle smile. "I have dedicated my life to the study of plants, and have worked hard to learn how to cultivate and nurture them. Yet what you brought to those little flowers," she gestured at the tiny daisies, "was more than I could ever give. You gave them love. I could feel it."

But Merlin was already shaking his head.

"But Professor, that is where you are wrong. You toil every day for your plants out of love. Whilst I love nature, yes, it will never be to the same depths as you, even though I am intrinsically connected to it. It is I who is jealous of you. You will reach your zenith, whereas I will always become distracted by the caterpillar devouring the leaf, or the bowtruckle hunting for woodlice. "

"You can hear them?" Professor McGonagall asked, abandoning all pretext of being immersed in her conversation with Snape. Her eyes were open, an indiscernible emotion held deep within.

Merlin tilted his head to the side. "No," He lied, "More... feel. It's hard to describe."

"You must relax your magic, m'dear boy. The sensations are heightened by leashing your magic, are they not?"

Once more, Merlin was taken aback. "Well yes, but-"

"It is not safe for you to control your magic to such an extent for prolonged periods of time." Professor McGonagall interjected firmly.

"But Firenze-"

"Firenze is a being of the Old Religion, is he not? Whilst I cannot speak for him, I suspect there would be no objections to the presence of more of his magic. In fact, it made be more to his... taste."

"Stop being foolish boy, and relax your magic. Or do you reveal in the pain?"

That brought Merlin up short, for the first time becoming flummoxed by his reaction. _Why_ was he arguing with the Professors? It would do no harm to relax his control... he would feel less agitated and it would be nice to feel at peace again – Snape sneered at his apparent response to his question and opened his mouth to jeer at him. The action jolted him out of his paralysis.

He breathed out and then he let go.

The forest came to life around him as his magic was unleashed. It rolled through the air as a gentle wave, greeting all with a gentle caress, and leaving them with a new vitality. Though the magic itself was not visible, the reaction was, with flowers responding to his now unmasked presence, spiralling up towards the release of magic, blooming as they grew. The forest became brighter as it was saturated with every colour and shade imaginable sharpening into focus.

" _Oh_ ," Sprout breathed. "It is even more beautiful than I could ever have imagined."

Of course, Merlin had not let go of his magic completely. But he had released enough that when facing the inquisition, he found himself able to answer the questions with relative ease, unafraid of the possibility of a magical tell giving his true feelings away.

"Although this beauty might be enviable to some, others have lessons today which must be suffered."

"Of course, Severus." Dumbledore agreed. Unlike Sprout and –surprisingly – McGonagall, he was able to tear himself away from his surroundings easily, his gaze zeroing in on Merlin. "I am sure you have heard what occurred this last weekend whilst you were attending your rituals. On Samhain, two beings calling themselves the Cailleach and Emrys met in the Great Hall. The latter claimed he was the Lord of Magic and used your magic."

They waited expectedly for his response. Merlin met Firenze's eyes, pondering on what to say exactly. The centaur nodded, indicating that the student could speak first, most likely so that the centaur could modify his answers accordingly to whatever tale Merlin spun for them in order to manipulate events.

"I know of them," he admitted. "They are both figures of legend and whilst it is not surprising for the Cailleach to appear due to the festivities, it is unusual that they chose Hogwarts for their bargain. The school is... unsuitable, for a number of reasons on many a level."

"They spoke of Hogwarts being akin to poison for the Cailleach." McGonagall said, her accent helping her pronounce the name perfectly. "They also called this school a pit of plague."

Merlin winced. "The Cailleach is not the most... tactful. She is beholden only to the Triple Goddess and those foolish enough to part the veil between the worlds. She is the Gatekeeper, or the more commonly known pseudonym, Death."

Snape snorted. "You're claiming that _Death_ personified came here to meet with a mad old coot of a druid?" He turned to the Headmaster, who had leaned forward slightly at the revelation. "Albus, this is a _farce –"_

"Why is it a farce, Professor? You have your own fables about Death, do you not? If one appears as a figure across time and legends cross culturally, then there must be truth to the myths."

"So you also claim that the intruder was the Lord of _Magic_?"

"There can't be a Lord of Magic?"

"Magic is not a land mass to be ruled over!"

"Neither can light be lead, and yet the esteemed Headmaster has the moniker 'Leader of the Light!' Whilst both are meaningless titles, the metaphor used gives us a good deal of information about them -"

"You are a bumbling _fool_ –"

" _Severus,"_ McGonagall scolded.

"Professor," Firenze said patiently, speaking for the first time. "You are an intelligent man. Consider thus: you know that an ordinary Druid would not come to your abode. Those who are left have been living in sanctuaries of old magic for so long that the sudden influx and concentration of your magic would overwhelm them, unbalance them. Mister Ambrosia here is of unusual circumstance, of which you already know. Thus, only one with great power, status and responsibility would come. You witnessed the greeting. Did you not see the difference in status – Death would bow to no mere man."

"Whilst that may be, the moniker _Lord of Magic?_ By whose authority was that bestowed upon him?" Professor McGonagall pressed. /2Who has the right to say whether he is a Lord of Magic?"

"The Triple Goddess herself. Well," Merlin added contemplatively, "There are other names that he is known as, and many that he were bequeathed unto him. It is likely that he used his title due to the formality of the situation. After all, his name alone carries more than enough gravitas."

The adults seemed unconvinced.

"Come now," Firenze spoke. "You have the answer before you. You know who Emrys is."

Professor Sprout spoke gently. "I am afraid we need some clarification, Firenze."

" _But did you know, there was a fifth, that came from time of old; He rose up from the lowest depths, and then put time on hold."_

"The fifth founder," The Herbology Professor breathed.

"Heis the fifth founder?" Dumbledore questioned with a sudden intensity. Whilst Professor McGonagall restrained herself from scoffing, Professor Snape surprisingly defended Merlin against the Headmaster,

"There is a certain logic to the situation. Yes, whilst the founders were estimable and powerful beyond measure, there is a limit to that, one which does not compute when faced with the magic of Hogwarts itself..." Obsidian eyes fixed the Warlock. "This _Lord of Magic_ gave Hogwarts its soul, didn't he."

Merlin nodded. "Yes."

Of course, he hadn't meant to. It had been a slight slip of the tongue and the weakening of resolve compounded with the sting of loneliness. Back then, he hadn't known as much about his status of being the embodiment of magic. He hadn't fully understood the gravitas his emotions could cause.

"But that would mean he is over a thousand years old, due to Hogwarts being founded around 990 AD. If his title is as metaphoric as you claim, then that would have no effect on his age– being a Druid does not have _that_ great an effect on lifespan. "

Merlin avoided everybody's gazes, rubbing his arm awkwardly. Perhaps taking pity on him, Firenze spoke again.

"You would be wise to accept his offer of aid in these troubling times. Once more, the prophecy speaks true, even if it _is_ in rhyme." He sniffed in displeasure. "Regardless, my lord is most amenable, albeit he displays it in the most unusual manner. As you experienced on Samhain after the Cailleach had left – you must treat him with the respect his title and station demands of him. It is of the utmost importance to him."

Inwardly, Merlin groaned. He knew why Firenze spoke so, and indeed it made sense – if the people of Hogwarts respected his station, then it would make his role as Protector a great deal easier. Yet the centaur was also fuelled with a hint of amused malice, knowing that his lord hated the respect his station was due.

Ah politics. How fickle it was, even millennia later.

"Respect..." Professor McGonagall murmured. "For the Cailleach to have acknowledged Emrys in such a way suggests that he is immortal."

"I think it goes beyond that, m'dear," Dumbledore interrupted, his brilliant blue eyes gazing at Merlin over the half-moon glasses, pinning him down. "There is only one Death respects beyond perhaps all others, and that is life. It is said that there is a man who walks the earth as the embodiment of magic."

The dramatic – at least to the new magic users – revelation was quickly reacted to.

Snape snorted. "How can this man be the embodiment of life? They spoke of _murder_."

A spark of anger. Was everybody repeatedly going to bring this up?

"What they spoke of was not murder," Merlin said, his speech perhaps too heated for one who had supposedly never met the individuals, nor knew the particulars of what they had spoken of. "It was a kindness."

There was a heavy silence.

"You do not seem surprised, nor indeed, shocked." Professor McGonagall observed slowly. "Do you _know_ their agreement Myrddin?"

"Is it murder to eradicate vermin? To erase evil from existence? Me thinks not."

Firenze moved, shifting his wait from one hoof to another, the action a nervous tick the Warlock knew he held. His eyes rose to meet the ice blue eyes, the message clear.

 _Be careful._

"Pardon me," Professor Sprout began. "Although I don't know the particulars of your... existence", She said lamely, gesturing to Merlin and Firenze. "I know that the Old Religion is one of balance and nature. Yet even though the slug may be considered a pest, they are also essential to the decomposing of natural materials and are integral to the food chain."

Merlin sneered.

"For what she has done –"

" _Merlin_ ," Firenze spoke firmly, his body straight. He turned to the rest of the Professors, who watched on with confusion. "Forgive Mister Ambrosia. The subject of Emrys is one of great emotional tenure, which can sometimes lead to one having a clouded judgement."

Merlin glared at the centaur. "My _judgement_ is not clouded."

"Yet you speak in your mother-tongue," Firenze replied, without bothering to orientate himself towards the Warlock.

He inhaled and drew himself up, ready to speak and defend his case. Yet the Professors made acquiescence to the centaur's poisonous words, with the Headmaster announcing the conclusion of their meeting.

The Warlock was left with the remains of his anger as the teacher's left, Dumbledore leaving the room first while Sprout remained behind, investigating the clearing once more with renewed wonder.

"I want to talk to you, Minerva." Snape said as he exited the room. "One of my first years was left petrified after an incident with an invisible spectre who locked her in the cupboard for the night."

"Whilst I appreciate the information, Severus, what is it of consequence to me? You are closer with the Baron – have him speak with Peeves again, though I shall of course have words with him when we next meet. A _first_ yearno less! I thought he knew better."

She shook her head with displeasure. Snape scowled.

"Whilst the _poltergeist_ does have questionable morals, it is confirmed tat it was not him. The Baron was dealing with him all night. No, the ones with questionable morals are the red headed devils in _your_ house-"

"The Weasley twins wouldn't-"

"They _would_. Or need I remind you –"

The Head of Gryffindor's sigh of suffering told the student all he needed to know regarding the direction of the conversation.

"Poor Minerva," Sprout said. "It must be a challenge having to deal with the twins so often."

"Indeed." Merlin replied.

The Herbology Professor began to move for the exit, but when passing her student, paused beside him.

"My dear," She said gently. "It is best not to be drawn up to the confines and conflicts of the past. Be careful, Myrddin."

He watched her leave, some of the anger leaving his body when he beheld her picking one of his flowers and smelling it before shutting the classroom door behind her.

"You left deliberately when Sprout pointed out my magic."

Firenze merely said:

"There is beauty in your magic, my lord, one that is rare to behold. Though these allies may be limited through their reliance of new magic, to the point of becoming almost childlike to us, it makes them not any less worthy. All deserve to know true peace and harmony at least once in their life."

It seemed that the centaur was expecting to continue debating the topic of the meeting, but the Warlock was having none of it. He gave his farewells, cultivating in the explanation of his Charms lesson starting in ten minutes. As Merlin exited the room, he left behind a sea of flowers amid an emerald lawn, a permanent imprint of a happy boy who once laid on the grass without a care in the world.

* * *

 **Well, I'm not entirely sure it was worth the two month absence. However, I CAN confirm that I'm going to attempt the NaNoWriMo challenge this November, with my personal goal being to (re)write 500 words minimum of this every other day – alternating with school work – which should hopefully speed this up! My boyfriend if also taking part, meaning that he shall no longer be vying for my attention.**

 **Hope you guys are all okay : )**


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